THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 


IN  MEMORY  OF 

Professor  Aram  Torossian 
1884-1941 


» 


?  - 
I  ^ 

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r 


The  Powers  at  Play 


The  Powers  at  Play 

By  Bliss  Perry 

Author  of  "The  Broughton  House,"  "The  Plated  City,"  etc. 


We  caught  for  a  moment  the  powers  at  play " 
— ROBERT  BROWNING 


Charles  Scribner's  Sons 
New  York   1899 


Copyright,  1899,  by 
Charles  Scribner's  Sons 


TROW    DIRECTORY 
•(TING  AND   BOOKBINDING  COMPANY 
NEW   YORK 


CONTENTS 

Page 

His  Word  of  Honor / 

In  tbe  Rip 75 

By  the  Committee 97 

Madame  Annalena 133 

Tbe  Incident  of  the  British  Ambassador  157 
71}e  Fish-Warden  of  Madrid  .    .    .    .  193 

Jepson's  Third  Adjective 239 

The  White  Blackbird 257 


169 


His  Word  of  Honor 


His   Word   of  Honor 


O  HE  came  running  down-stairs  into  the 
^  big,  dimly  lighted  drawing-room,  his 
card  still  in  her  hand. 

"  It  is  Dr.  Colburn,  I  see,"  she  exclaimed 
delightedly.  "  Let  me  congratulate  you. 
Really,  isn't  it  impressive !  "  She  swept 
downward  and  backward  in  mock  ceremony, 
with  eyes  fixed  demurely  upon  the  gleaming 
card  which  announced  to  the  world  that 
Samuel  W.  Colburn  had  been  made  an  M.D. 

"  Thank  you,  Miss  Warburton,"  said  the 
young  fellow,  laughing.  "  It  is  the  first 
time  I  have  used  one  of  them.  You  don't 
mind  my  experimenting  upon  you?  I 
thought  I  detected  Robert  smiling  a  little 
when  he  took  it  up-stairs." 

"  Robert  smiling?  You  alarm  me,  Dr. 
Colburn.  No ;  we  won't  sit  down  here,  af 
ter  all.  Come  into  my  room,  it's  so  very 
much  cooler." 

3 


His  Word  of  Honor 

Miss  Warburton  led  the  way  across  the 
hall  and  into  a  tiny  reception-room  opening 
at  the  farther  end  upon  a  stone  balcony,  be 
tween  whose  carved  balusters  glistened  the 
electric-lighted  foliage  of  the  park.  The 
June  night  was  oppressively  hot,  but  a 
breath  of  sea-breeze  found  its  way  in  from 
the  balcony,  and  made  the  candles  in  the 
silver  sconces  throw  momentary  shadows 
upon  the  pale-damask  walls.  Colburn 
glanced  around  the  room,  and  then  at  his 
hostess,  with  a  delicious  sense  of  intimacy. 
Often  as  he  had  called  in  the  last  six  months, 
she  had  never  received  him  here  before,  and 
he  felt  that  it  marked  a  new  stage  in  their 
acquaintance.  He  settled  himself  as  com 
fortably  as  he  dared  in  his  fragile  chair, 
while  she  nestled  among  the  sofa-pillows. 

"  Well,"  she  said,  in  the  spirit  of  scientific 
inquiry  that  befitted  the  daughter  of  a  great 
surgeon,  "  please  tell  me  exactly  how  you 
feel.  It  must  be  very  interesting." 

"  You  mean,  how  I  feel  to  be  graduated, 
and  all  that  sort  of  thing?"  he  replied 
radiantly.  "  It's  extremely  pleasant." 

"  Don't  be  commonplace.  How  does  it 
4 


His  Word  of  Honor 

really  seem  to  win  the  hospital  appointment 
and  the  first  Harsen  prize?  Won't  you 
analyze  your  sensations  for  me  ?  " 

"  The  prize  ?  "  he  exclaimed.  "  I  did  not 
know  I  had  won  it;  that  is — your  father 
hinted  something  of  the  sort,  but " 

"  Nonsense,"  said  Dr.  Warburton's 
daughter.  "  Papa  told  me  all  about  it  this 
morning.  And  I  knew  you  would  take  it, 
anyway.  To  have  given  it  to  that  horrid 
Chilian  would  have  been  for  us  to  violate 
every  tradition  of  the  P.  and  S." 

Colburn  smiled  at  her  identification  of 
herself  with  the  institution  which  had  just 
honored  him. 

"  I  certainly  have  no  fault  to  find  with  the 
decision;  and  the  hospital  appointment 
brings  me  back  to  New  York  again  for  a 
while,  for  one  thing." 

She  was  watching  him  keenly.  "  Of 
course  you  must  stay  in  New  York/'  she  said 
rather  rapidly.  "  Where  else  would  you  be 
satisfied?  But  you  ought  to  take  a  thor 
ough  rest  now,  after  the  grind." 

"  It  has  been  a  grind,"  he  admitted,  shak 
ing  his  square  shoulders  as  if  to  throw  off 
5 


His  Word  of  Honor 

the  memory  of  the  load  he  had  been  carry 
ing  ;  "  and  the  Chilian  had  the  advantage  of 
me  in  that  he  didn't  go  out  at  all.  I  was  a 
little  handicapped." 

"  Thank  you,"  she  said  ironically.  "  Is 
that  the  extent  of  your  gratitude  to  our 
dancing-class?  And  you  are  really  sorry 
you  have  been  asked  to  usher  so  often  this 
season?  And  you  actually  repent  of  the 
dinners,  now  the>  have  been  eaten  ?  That's 
just  what  I  asked  you  in  the  first  place.  I 
want  an  analysis  of  your  impressions,  now 
that  everything  is  over,  and  all  the  prizes 
are  yours,  and  you  need  never  be  brilliant 
any  more  unless  you  please."  She  spoke  in 
a  low,  almost  quizzical  tone,  but  her  dark 
eyes  were  alert  and  her  inquisitive,  mobile 
face  had  a  certain  intentness  as  she  spoke. 

"  Brilliant  any  more  ?  That's  very  good 
of  you.  I  may  take  my  ease,  may  I?  It 
will  be  such  a  new  sensation,  after  the  intel 
lectual  strain  of  a  social  season  plus  grind 
ing  for  a  competitive  examination !  But 
seriously,  Miss  Warburton,  there  were  a 
dozen  in  the  class  more  clever  than  I.  My 
only  luck  was  in  the  constitution  I  brought 
6 


His  Word  of  Honor 

down  from  Vermont.  I  can  get  home  at 
two,  work  till  five,  sleep  till  nine,  hear  lect 
ures  and  work  till  eight,  and  keep  it  up  as 
long  as  I  like.  Most  men  are  used  up  by  it." 

"  All  men  are  used  up  by  it,"  said 
Dr.  Warburton's  daughter,  dogmatically; 
"  some  sooner  than  others,  that  is  all.  Do 
you  know,  I  never  imagined  until  lately 
that  you  and  your  friend  in  the  law-school — 
Mr.  Kennedy,  is  it? — were  really  working. 
I  should  have  seen  to  it  that  you  were  not 
asked  out  so  much,  if  I  had  known." 

Miss  Warburton's  assumption  of  respon 
sibility  for  him  was  subtly  flattering. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  in  a  sort  of  confidence  he 
had  never  shown  her ; "  Kennedy  and  I  came 
down  here  from  Dartmouth  three  years  ago, 
and  neither  of  us  knew  anybody.  People 
have  been  very  kind.  And  then,  I  think  we 
have  enjoyed  it  all  the  more  because  it  was 
so  new  to  us.  You  don't  get  tired  of  din 
ners  in  two  years.  I  say  two,  because  the 
first  winter  we  went  out  very  little." 

"  And  the  last  year,"  she  murmured,  as  if 
buried  in  abstract  computation,  "  you  have 
ushered  at  how  many  weddings  ?  " 
7 


His  Word  of  Honor 

"  Eleven ;  and  I  have  been  best  man  three 
times." 

"  And  you  have  beaten  the  Chilian,"  she 
added,  "  and  passed  the  best  examination 
of  any  P.  and  S.  man  for  six  years.  You 
have  an  admirable  constitution,  Dr.  Col- 
burn  ! " 

But  she  was  wondering  not  so  much  at 
the  young  fellow's  freshness  of  color  and 
clearness  of  eye  as  at  his  unsophistication  of 
attitude,  his  inability  to  be  bored.  Her  own 
zest  for  dinners  had  disappeared  long  before 
her  second  season  was  over.  Miss  War- 
burton  was  an  eager  girl,  passionately  fond 
of  her  dolls  while  they  lasted,  though  en 
dowed  with  ringers  pitiably  sensitive  to  the 
feel  of  the  sawdust  underneath  the  silk.  The 
two  excitements  that  had  never  yet  failed 
her  were  dancing  and  driving.  Mr.  Col- 
burn  had  been  the  most  tireless  dancer  in 
her  set  the  past  winter,  and  it  was  he  whom 
she  happened  to  take  up  in  her  cart,  that 
windy  day  in  May,  not  five  minutes  before 
the  mare  ran  with  her ;  and  he  had  kept  on 
chatting  as  coolly  as  ever  until  she  got  the 
brute  in  hand  again,  and  had  been  delicate 
8 


His  Word  of  Honor 

enough  not  to  offer — manlike — to  take  the 
reins  himself. 

She  admitted  to  herself  now,  as  she  sat 
scrutinizing  his  face  and  catechising  him 
upon  his  New  York  experience,  that  she 
liked  him.  He  was  coming  back  to  the 
city.  Her  father  prophesied  for  Colburn  a 
brilliant  career.  Obviously,  she  could  in 
the  future  see  more  of  him,  if  she  chose ;  she 
could  see  as  much  of  him  as  she  liked.  And 
beyond  that?  One's  thoughts  may  go  far 
on  a  June  night  when  one  is  but  two-and- 
twenty,  and  stretches  out  motherless  hands 
imperiously  toward  a  world  that  must,  if  the 
books  say  true,  hold  somewhere  in  reserve 
a  boundless  store  of  happiness. 

"  When  do  you  go  ?  "  she  asked  abruptly. 

"To-morrow.  Indeed,  I  came  to  say 
good-by.  I  suppose  you  will  be  out  of  town 
until  October  ?  " 

"  Very  probably.  You  know,  this  is 
papa's  summer  to  go  abroad.  Auntie  and  I 
are  getting  up  a  coaching-party  for  the  last 
two  weeks  of  June.  You  should  seethe  new 
leaders  papa  has  bought  for  me,  by  the  way ! 
Then,  I  imagine,  we  shall  stay  at  Litchfield 
9 


His  Word  of  Honor 

until  September,  and  perhaps  drive  again 
after  that — to  the  mountains,  very  likely. 
And  you?" 

"I?  Oh,  I  shall  be  at  home  for  three 
weeks,  and  then  come  back  on  the  ist  of 
July  for  the  hospital  work." 

"  You  told  me  once  where  you  lived ;  it's 
in  southern  Vermont,  isn't  it  ?  " 

He  bowed.  "  At  North  Enderby.  It  is 
on  the  map,  and  that's  about  all." 

"  Why,  wait !  "  she  cried.  "  Isn't  it  some 
where  near  Wilmington  ?  " 

"  Between  Wilmington  and  Brattleboro." 

"  Of  course !  We  are  going  to  cross  from 
Wilmington  to  Brattleboro  on  our  trip 
north,  week  after  next.  Let  me  show  you." 

She  darted  across  the  room  to  a  tiny 
escritoire,  and  returned  with  an  old  dance- 
card  and  pencil. 

"  Here  is  Litchfield,"  she  said,  sitting 
down  cosily  beside  Dr.  Colburn ;  "  we  start, 
of  course,  from  there.  The  first  day  we  go 
to  Lenox  " — she  made  another  dot  on  the 
back  of  the  card — "  and  the  second  to  Will- 
iamstown ;  then  to  Bennington,  and  the 
fourth  day  to  Wilmington  " — she  drew  a  line 
10 


His  Word  of  Honor 

at  right  angles  to  the  other — "  and  I  want  to 
cross  to  Brattleboro  and  go  up  the  river. 
We  drove  to  Manchester  and  Burlington 
last  year.  And  I  forgot  to  say — at  Lenox  " 
— the  dainty  pencil  went  down  to  the  second 
dot — "  we  are  going  to  pick  up  the  Tarra- 
ways  and  Charlie  McDuffer ;  and  there  will 
be  my  small  brother,  of  course;  but  that 
still  leaves  one  seat  vacant."  The  pencil 
moved  up  across  the  card,  and  made  a  swift 
interrogation-point  between  Wilmington 
and  Brattleboro.  "Will  you  not  join  us? 
We  do  really  need  another  man." 

Colburn  shifted  rather  uneasily  in  his 
slender  chair. 

"  It  would  give  me  immense  pleasure,"  he 
said;  "but " 

"  But  you  don't  want  to,"  she  flashed 
back. 

"  On  the  contrary,  I  want  to  very  much. 
I  am  simply  questioning  whether  I  ought. 
You  know  I  have  but  three  weeks  at  home 
anyway,  and  mother " 

"  As  you  like,"  decided  Miss  Warburton, 
a  trifle  petulantly.  "  But  you  might  give  us 
a  couple  of  days.  And  then,  Auntie  would 

IX 


His  Word  of  Honor 

be  so  relieved,"  she  added  gayly,  "  to  have  a 
surgeon  in  the  party.  You  know,  I  am  go 
ing  to  be  the  whip  myself,  and  she  always 
thinks  I  am  so  reckless.  Come,  just  two 
days?" 

"  You  will  confine  your  recklessness  to 
those  two  days  ?  " 

She  glanced  up  at  him.  It  was  impossible 
to  detect  from  his  manner  whether  he  wished 
any  meaning  to  be  attached  to  his  words. 

"  I  never  make  promises,"  she  said.  Her 
eyes  fell,  and  the  pencil  began  to  trace  aim 
less  lines  upon  the  card. 

Colburn  was  trying  to  think  fast.  There 
was  just  one  reason  for  his  hesitancy  to  ac 
cept  her  invitation  for  those  two  days.  He 
was  not  sure — not  quite  sure — that  it  was  an 
adequate  reason,  but  it  happened  to  be  one 
that  he  could  not  comfortably  explain  to 
Miss  Warburton  herself.  The  blue  pencil 
still  wandered  aimlessly  over  the  map,  but 
he  thought  it  moved  a  trifle  more  impa 
tiently.  There  was  a  footstep  in  the  hall, 
and  Robert  drew  aside  the  portiere.  He 
carried  a  box  of  familiar  size  and  shape,  and 
a  note  elaborately  sealed.  Miss  Warburton 

12 


His  Word  of  Honor 

opened  the  roses  first,  and  passed  them 
to  Colburn,  and  then  she  glanced  at  the 
note. 

"  Tell  Mr.  McDuffer's  man  that  there  is 
no  answer  needed,  Robert ; "  and  Robert, 
picking  up -the  tissue-paper  from  the  floor, 
withdrew  as  automatically  as  he  had  entered. 
The  ceremony  had  taken  but  a  moment,  but 
during  the  interval  Dr.  Colburn  had  made 
and  formulated  his  decision.  Yet  it  was 
Miss  Warburton  who  spoke  first. 

"  Charlie  McDuffer  is  off  for  Lenox.  Did 
I  tell  you  we  were  going  to  pick  him  up 
there?  He  asks  if  he  mayn't  bring  his 
French  horn.  It's  the  dear  boy's  one  ac 
complishment ;  of  course  he  may.  Aren't 
those  lovely  roses !  And  Mr.  McDuffer," 
she  added,  rather  wickedly,  "  didn't  have  to 
be  asked  twice." 

"  Nor  I  either,"  replied  Dr.  Colburn,  who 
cherished  a  cordial  hatred  for  the  innocent 
McDuffer.  "  I  will  join  you  whenever  you 
say." 

"Really?"  she  cried.  "How  delight 
ful  !  "  She  glanced  at  him  with  a  low,  rapid 
laugh  as  the  conviction  flashed  upon  her 
13 


His  Word  of  Honor 

that  men  were  easily  enough  managed,  after 
all. 

"  Thank  you.  When  shall  it  be  ?  "  He 
had  left  that  uncomfortable  scruple  far  be 
hind  him  now,  and  spoke  as  eagerly  as  she. 

"  Remember,"  he  continued,  "  for  two 
days  you  may  be  as  reckless  as  you  please ;  it 
shall  be  two  wheels  over  the  edge  all  the 
time,  if  you  say  so,  provided  your  aunt  and 
Charlie  McDuffer  do  not  scream !  Shall  I 
bring  splints  and  plasters  for  the  inevitable 
emergency  ?  "  But  it  was  the  edge  of  some 
thing  other  than  a  Vermont  road  over  which 
those  two  days  would  find  them  swaying  to 
gether,  and  she  felt  the  undertone  of  mean 
ing  in  his  words  as  well  as  he.  It  thrilled 
her  deliciously,  but  she  dared  not  betray  her 
self. 

"  Let  me  see,"  she  said  slowly,  putting 
McDuffer's  roses  to  her  face  again ;  "  we 
reach  Wilmington  the  evening  of  the  i8th. 
Will  you  join  us  then,  or  on  the  iQth  at  Brat- 
tleboro,  or  at  some  point  between?  Is 
North  Enderby  on  the  county  road  ?  " 

He  shook  his  head.  Colburn  had  never 
spoken  to  her  about  his  family,  but  she  knew 
14 


His  Word  of  Honor 

he  was  poor,  and  she  had  a  sort  of  instinct 
that  he  might  not  care  to  have  the  fashion 
able  tally-ho  pull  up  before  his  front  door. 

And  she  was  right,  though  not — to  do  him 
justice — for  the  reason  she  supposed. 

"  North  Enderby  is  a  mile  or  two  out  of 
your  way,"  he  said  easily,  "  and  the  hill  is  a 
hard  one.  Suppose  you  let  me  meet  you  at 
the  Four  Corners.  Where  is  the  card,  once 
more?" 

She  nodded  as  he  drew  a  line  to  mark  the 
intersection  of  the  county  road  by  the  hill 
road  to  Enderby. 

"  Very  well ;  we  will  take  you  up,  then,  at 
ten  o'clock  on  the  morning  of  the  igih.  It 
will  be  ever  so  much  nicer  than  meeting  us 
in  a  country  hotel,  and  you  can  send  your 
things  ahead  to  Brattleboro,  you  know." 

"  Of  course,"  he  said,  amused  at  her  prac 
tised  forethought  for  details ;  "  and  how 
much  grace  will  you  allow  me,  or  shall  I 
allow  you,  at  the  Four  Corners?  Must  it 
be  ten  o'clock  to  the  minute  ?  " 

"  To  the  very  minute !  Just  as  I  pull  up 
at  the  Four  Corners,  out  you  must  spring 
from  the  roadside,  like  a  highwayman — no ; 
15 


His  Word  of  Honor 

that  isn't  very  nice;  like  Orson  the  wood- 
knight!  Who  was  he?  I  am  sure  I  can't 
remember.  But  keeping  tryst,  you  know ! 
Won't  the  rest  open  their  eyes  when  I  sum 
mon  you  to  the  box!  I  won't  tell  anyone 
except  Auntie — she  will  send  you  the  invita 
tion,  of  course — that  you  are  coming. 
Wait !  wait !  Here's  something  better  yet !  " 
She  sprang  to  her  feet,  and  began  to  laugh. 
"  Let's  arrange  a  regular  opera  entrance ! 
At  the  exact  minute  I'll  get  Charlie  McDuf- 
fer  to  play  something  on  his  French  horn. 
You  hear  the  echoes,  and  in  you  come ! 
Tableau!" 

Colburn  was  laughing,  too.  "  Superb !  " 
he  cried,  though  even  in  that  flattering  mo 
ment  it  struck  him  that  the  stage  arrange 
ment  was  a  trifle  unfair  to  McDuffer. 

"  But  what  shall  he  play  ?  What  can  he 
play  ?  He  knows  three  tunes,"  she  said  de 
murely  :  "  '  Elizabeth's  Prayer  '  in  '  Tann- 
hauser,'  '  Suwanee  River,'  and  '  See !  the 
Conquering  Hero  Comes/  You  may  have 
your  choice." 

"  Then  I  choose  the  last,"  said  Colburn. 
He  was  beginning  to  lose  his  head  a  little, 
16 


His  Word  of  Honor 

too.  "  But  I  don't  know  the  tune  when  I 
hear  it.  Play  it  to  me !  " 

"  Of  course  you  do,  you  nonsensical 
boy !  "  she  exclaimed,  as  she  caught  at  the 
tips  of  Colburn's  ringers,  and  pirouetted  with 
him  down  the  room  and  across  the  hall  to 
the  piano,  where  she  crashed  out  the  open 
ing  bars  of  the  tune,  and  made  him  whistle 
them  after  her  till  she  pronounced  him  per 
fect.  Then  she  whirled  around  on  the 
piano-stool,  and  looked  steadily  at  him  an 
instant. 

"  Haven't  we  been  fearfully  silly  ?  "  she 
demanded,  the  key  of  her  voice  changing 
suddenly. 

He  shook  his  head,  smiling,  but  he  saw 
that  it  was  time  to  go. 

She  stood  by  him  in  the  hall  as  he  drew 
on  his  light  overcoat.  He  always  had 
looked  handsome  in  evening  dress,  and  his 
French  beard  became  him. 

"  Good-by,  then,"  he  said,  putting  out  his 
hand,  "  until  ten  o'clock  on  the  igth.  Isn't 
it  ridiculous  ?  " 

"  Good-by,"  she  answered,  taking  his 
hand  with  a  sort  of  timidity  he  had  never  ob- 
17 


His  Word  of  Honor 

served  in  her.  "  You  must  not  fail  me,  now 
that  I  have  tired  myself  out  playing  the 
tune  for  you.  I  may  count  upon  you  'cer 
tain  sure,'  as  the  children  say?  " 

"  '  Honor  bright,'  "  he  answered,  and  the 
heavy  door  closed  noiselessly  behind  him. 

Dr.  Colburn  stood  a  moment,  looking  out 
over  the  park.  Then  he  shrugged  his  shoul 
ders  with  a  kind  of  boyish  petulance,  and, 
folding  his  gloved  hands  behind  his  back  in 
a  manner  that  was  not  boyish  at  all,  walked 
slowly  down  the  brownstone  steps.  A  cer 
tain  scruple,  forgotten  during  the  last  half- 
hour,  had  silently  reasserted  itself.  He  was 
thinking  of  a  thoroughly  nice  girl  named 
Juletta  Perkins,  his  next-door  neighbor  at 
North  Enderby,  to  whom  he  had  been  en 
gaged  to  be  married  ever  since  the  winter 
vacation  of  his  junior  year. 

II 

AT  half-past  five  o'clock  on  the  afternoon 

of  the  i8th,  Dr.  Colburn  flung  out  his  arms 

in  a  spasmodic  effort  to  keep  his  balance, 

and  then  the  rotten  hemlock  bark  gave  way 

18 


His  Word  of  Honor 

altogether,  and  he  sat  down  with  painful 
swiftness  astride  of  a  big  log  that  spanned 
the  turbulent  waters  of  Poorhouse  Brook. 
For  an  instant  he  gripped  the  log  hard  with 
his  thighs,  and  glanced  nervously  at  the 
rocks  a  dozen  feet  below  him.  He  was 
safe  enough,  however;  and  as  soon  as  his 
pulse  began  to  slacken  its  pace  he  settled 
his  straw  hat  straight  again,  threw  one  leg 
over  the  log,  and  mechanically  hitched  up 
his  summer  trousers  a  trifle  at  the  knees. 
Then  he  looked  around  him  in  a  jaded,  dazed 
fashion,  and  uttered  an  exclamation  of  min 
gled  satisfaction  and  disgust.  For  the  first 
time  in  several  hours  he  recognized  his  bear 
ings.  On  the  right,  beyond  the  tangle  of 
dead  blackberry-bushes  through  which  he 
had  just  torn  his  way,  was  Big  Swamp, 
where  he  had  been  wandering  in  most  idiotic 
circles  since  three  o'clock.  To  be  sure,  the 
old  path  had  been  quite  obliterated  by  sec 
ond-growth  spruces  and  swamp  alders  since 
he  had  last  tried  this  short  cut  from  Enderby 
across  Big  Swamp,  and  the  black  thunder 
clouds  had  spread  so  rapidly  across  the  sky 
after  he  had  started  that  it  had  been  quite 
19 


His  Word  of  Honor 

impossible  to  get  the  points  of  compass  ;  but 
making  all  allowances  for  himself,  the  fact 
remained  that  he  had  lost  his  way,  like  the 
merest  schoolboy,  within  six  miles  of  home. 
It  was  all  plain  enough  now.  On  his  left, 
arching  queerly  above  the  fern-covered  hil 
locks  of  a  clearing,  were  the  tops  of  the  old 
charcoal  kilns,  disused  for  many  a  year,  and 
a  half-mile  from  the  charcoal-kilns  was  the 
Hollow.  Thence  the  Pond  road  led  straight 
to  his  friend  Kennedy's  house,  where  he  had 
meant  to  pass  the  night.  An  hour's  sharp 
walking  would  bring  him  there,  and  not  too 
late  for  supper.  The  clouds  grew  steadily 
more  threatening.  Nevertheless,  Dr.  Col- 
burn  swung  his  feet  irresolutely  over  Poor- 
house  Brook,  and  began  discontentedly  to 
pick  the  blackberry  thorns  out  of  his  coat 
sleeves.  His  accidentally  selected  seat  was 
not  exactly  to  his  liking,  but  he  was  too 
weary  to  change  it,  and  there  was,  at  least,  a 
sort  of  consonance  between  the  uncomfort- 
ableness  of  his  body  and  a  certain  conscious 
discomfort  of  his  mind. 

He  felt  a  little  like  a  defaulter.     He  had 
quietly  sent  his  bag  to   Brattleboro   that 
20 


His  Word  of  Honor 

morning,  and  had  told  his  mother  that  he 
was  going  to  spend  the  night  with  Walter 
Kennedy,  and  the  next  two  days  with  some 
friends  from  New  York ;  that  was  all.  The 
widow  Colburn  received  the  announcement 
with  imperfectly  concealed  disappointment. 
Her  boy's  vacation  with  her  was  so  short,  at 
best!  But  she  would  no  more  have  ques 
tioned  the  Tightness  of  Samuel's  decisions 
than  she  would  the  justice  of  "  the  moral 
law  " — an  institution  to  which  the  natives  of 
North  Enderby  made  somewhat  frequent 
reference.  Nor  would  Juletta.  For  months 
the  girl  had  dreamed  of  her  lover's  home 
coming,  and  it  had  taken  all  her  fortitude  to 
rejoice  unselfishly  at  the  hospital  appoint 
ment  which  would  separate  Colburn  from 
her  so  soon.  Since  the  previous  summer 
she  had  seen  him  but  once,  namely,  during 
the  memorable  three  days  she  had  spent  in 
New  York  as  a  delegate  to  the  Christian  En 
deavor  convention.  There  was  so  much  in 
the  city  that  she  wanted  to  see,  and  there 
were  so  many  details  she  wanted  to  talk  over 
with  her  fiance,  whose  letters  had  grown 
shorter  in  the  last  year ;  but  still  she  felt  that 

21 


His  Word  of  Honor 

her  duty  as  a  delegate  was  clear.  One  even 
ing  only  did  they  have  together ;  and  when 
Juletta  read  her  report  to  the  North  Enderby 
Endeavorers,  she  colored  as  she  summa 
rized — alas!  from  the  secular  press — the 
speeches  at  the  omitted  session,  and  dreaded 
lest  someone  should  suspect  that  she  had 
passed  that  Thursday  evening  in  the  dark 
ened  back  parlor  of  a  boarding-house,  all 
alone  with  Sam.  They  had  been  so  happy 
that  night ! — happier,  Juletta  reflected  with 
a  vague  wonderment,  than  they  were  now 
that  he  had  come  home.  The  ten  days  just 
passed  had  not  brought  them  nearer  to 
gether.  Yet  they  had  been  engaged  five 
years,  and  Juletta  had  never  dreamed  of  car 
ing  for  anyone  else,  nor  had  it  entered  her 
gentle,  unsuspecting  soul  that  Colburn  ever 
found  more  than  a  passing  relaxation  from 
his  studies  in  those  social  events  of  which  he 
sometimes  wrote  her  so  gayly.  Of  course, 
she  meditated,  other  girls  could  not  help 
admiring  Sam.  He  was  so  handsome,  so 
good-natured,  and  such  a  fine  scholar ;  but 
Heaven  had  given  her  his  heart.  She  ac 
cepted  the  favor  with  a  tranquil  thankful- 

22 


His  Word  of  Honor 

ness,  never  ceasing,  indeed,  to  be  conscious 
of  her  undeserts,  but  never  for  a  moment 
imagining  that  his  love  had  not  come  to 
her,  as  hers  to  him,  for  better  and  for  worse, 
and  for  forever  and  a  day.  And  being  also, 
like  most  idealists,  of  a  practical  turn  of 
mind,  her  table-linen  had  been  ready  since 
the  last  November,  and  she  had  bought  her 
other  things  in  May. 

It  was  precisely  Dr.  Colburn's  sense  of 
this  steadfast  fidelity  of  Juletta  which  made 
those  ten  days  so  uncomfortable  for  him. 
If  he  had  said  frankly,  "  I  am  thinking  of 
going  on  the  iQth  to  spend  two  days  in  the 
coaching-party  of  one  of  the  most  attractive 
girls  in  New  York;  she  has  asked  me  be 
cause  she  likes  me  better  than  the  gilded 
youth  who  is  seriously  making  love  to  her ; 
I  am  fond  of  her — indeed,  just  how  fond  we 
are  of  each  other  I  suppose  neither  of  us 
knows,"  Juletta  would  have  answered  placid 
ly  :  "  You  must  go  by  all  means,  Sam.  You 
have  been  working  hard,  and  the  outing  will 
do  you  good.  I  am  sure  I  do  not  want  you 
to  neglect  your  best  friends  just  because  you 
and  I  are  engaged  to  be  married.  A  young 
23 


His  Word  of  Honor 

doctor  ought  to  make  just  as  many  friends 
as  he  can.  And  you  must  remember  to  tell 
me  exactly  how  Miss  Warburton  has 
trimmed  her  summer  hat." 

It  was  impossible  ever  to  be  angry  with 
Juletta,  but  Dr.  Colburn  made  amends  for 
this  gap  in  his  experience  by  being  angry  at 
himself.  He  was  distinctly  aware  that  he 
had  put  himself  in  a  false  position.  He  had 
given  his  word  of  honor  to  Elinor  Warbur 
ton  ;  but  could  he  honorably  keep  it  ?  He 
knew  very  well  what  those  two  days  in  her 
company  would  imply :  it  would  be  a  definite 
entering  of  the  lists  against  McDuffer ;  and 
his  instinct  told  him  that  the  prize  might  be 
his,  if  he  chose.  Yet  there  was  Juletta ;  and 
throughout  their  long  engagement  he  had, 
in  the  face  of  manifold  distractions,  been 
faithful,  even  in  thought,  to  his  boyish  prom 
ise  of  five  years  before.  It  was  now  for  the 
first  time,  when  he  confessed  to  a  certain 
lack  of  piquancy  in  Juletta's  society  com 
pared  with  the  anticipated  excitements  of  a 
seat  upon  Miss  Warburton's  tally-ho,  that 
he  wondered  whether  his  engagement  had 
not  been  a  mistake.  Certainly  he  had  erred 
24 


His  Word  of  Honor 

in  never  mentioning  the  engagement  to 
Miss  Warburton.  He  had  debated  the  ad 
visability  of  asking  her  to  call  upon 
Juletta  at  the  time  of  the  convention,  but  on 
the  whole  had  decided  not  to.  It  might  have 
been  a  little  awkward  for  all  parties,  and  he 
was  quite  sure  that  Juletta  and  Miss  War- 
burton  would  not  understand  each  other  al 
together;  and  besides,  Juletta  was  such  a 
conscientious  delegate  that  he  was  not  likely 
to  see  very  much  of  her  himself.  And  so  he 
had  allowed  matters  to  go  along  until  now. 
It  had  been  the  simpler  way  appar 
ently,  and  Colburn  always  hated  complica 
tions.  But  he  found  himself  at  present  per 
plexed  by  the  most  intricate  and  inexorable 
of  complications.  To  have  two  strings  upon 
your  bow  may  show  excellent  foresight  for 
an  emergency ;  but,  after  all,  you  must  shoot 
with  one  string  at  a  time,  and  the  other  one 
is  then  sadly  in  the  way.  This  good-natured 
young  doctor  had  been  fingering  a  new 
string — adjusting  it  hesitatingly,  as  it  were, 
and  by  no  means  desiring  to  slip  the  faithful 
old  one — and  lo!  circumstance  had  caught 
him  in  the  act,  and  cried  sternly,  "  Shoot, 

and  at  once !  " 

25 


His  Word  of  Honor 

Half  a  dozen  times,  that  afternoon,  as  he 
paused  for  breath  in  the  blind  tangle  of  Big 
Swamp,  he  resolved,  if  he  ever  got  out 
again,  to  go  straight  back  to  Juletta,  and  tell 
her  everything.  He  thought  he  could  tell 
her  in  such  a  way  that  even  her  unsuspicious 
vision  would  discern  how  near  their  happi 
ness  had  come  to  being  shattered,  and  she 
would  know  that  he  had  need  of  her  forgive 
ness.  And  he  would  let  Charlie  McDuffer 
play  "  See !  the  Conquering  Hero  Comes  " 
to  the  empty  winds  that  blew  across  the 
Four  Corners.  Miss  Warburton  would  be 
bitterly  angry  at  the  failure  of  her  impro 
vised  drama ;  she  would  be  angrier  still  when 
she  learned — as  she  was  bound  to  some  time 
— of  the  reason  for  his  staying  away;  and 
then  the  whole  affair  would  be  ended. 

And  a  half-dozen  other  times  he  shook  his 
head  doggedly,  and  resolved  to  push 
through,  as  he  had  intended,  to  Walter  Ken 
nedy's,  and  lay  the  troublesome  question 
before  the  judicial  mind  of  his  friend.  But 
he  was  dogged  because  he  knew  perfectly 
well  what  advice  Kennedy  would  give  him. 
That  newly  fledged  member  of  the  New 
26 


His  Word  of  Honor 

York  bar  would  decide  cheerfully :  "  Sam,  if 
you  promised,  honor  bright,  to  meet  a  cer 
tain  pretty  girl  at  a  certain  place,  on  a  cer 
tain  hour,  you're  a  lucky  fellow,  that's  all. 
Gather  your  roses  while  you  may.  Keep 
your  word,  and  follow  your  star.  I  only 
wish  it  were  I." 

To  be  sure,  Kennedy  had  always  consid 
ered  his  chum's  engagement  to  Miss  Juletta 
Perkins,  of  North  Enderby — fresh-colored 
blonde  and  good-hearted  girl  as  she  un 
doubtedly  was — to  be  something  of  a  social 
mistake. 

As  Dr.  Colburn  picked  the  last  blackberry 
thorn  out  of  his  coat-sleeve  he  was  aware 
that  the  moment  had  come  for  him  to  follow 
one  of  those  two  alternating  resolutions.  It 
was  ridiculous  to  sit  there,  swinging  his  feet 
over  Poorhouse  Brook,  not  knowing  what 
he  wanted.  A  drop  of  rain  struck  the  back 
of  his  hand,  and  that  decided  him.  He 
glanced  toward  the  Hollow  and  the  Pond 
road  with  a  sudden  relief.  It  was  absurd 
that  it  had  taken  him  so  long  to  settle  the 
question.  The  Kennedys  would  have  fin 
ished  supper,  very  likely,  before  he  could 
27 


His  Word  of  Honor 

reach  there ;  but  that  would  make  no  differ 
ence.  He  and  Walter  would  have  a  fine 
old-time  talk,  that  night,  about  getting  on 
in  the  world,  and  in  the  morning  Walter 
could  drive  him  close  to  the  Four  Corners. 
The  morning !  How  fresh  everything  would 
be  after  the  rain  !  How  merrily  Miss  War- 
burton  would  send  her  new  leaders  along 
over  the  hard,  clean-washed  road!  And 
the  Tarraway  girl  would  be  poking  sly  fun 
at  McDuffer ;  and  Elinor's  aunt  would  be  in 
mortal  terror  of  the  ever-possible  overturn ; 
and  he  himself,  seated  by  her  side  upon  the 
box,  erect  and  buoyant  in  the  sunny  morn 
ing  wind — ah,  there  was  a  whip  that  would 
be  sending  him  along,  too,  faster  than  ever 
her  leaders  travelled — swift — swift — and 
with  the  bit  in  his  teeth ! 


Ill 

DR.  COLBURN  spread  his  hands  upon  the 
slippery  wood,  and,  throwing  his  whole 
weight  upon  his  palms,  began  to  hitch  his 
way  cautiously  to  the  farther  end  of  the  log. 
When  two-thirds  of  the  way  over  he  halted 
28 


His  Word  01  Honor 

in  utter  astonishment.  From  the  point  he 
had  reached,  the  bed  of  the  brook  was  visible 
for  fifty  yards  below  him.  Perhaps  half 
that  distance  away,  crouching  ankle-deep  in 
the  gray  water,  was  a  human  figure ;  and  as 
it  straightened  itself  stealthily  the  startled 
young  fellow  perceived  it  was  the  figure  of  a 
woman.  He  sat  motionless,  perched  upon 
his  log,  staring.  Straight  up-stream 
toward  him  crept  the  figure,  now  bal 
ancing  itself  upon  the  stones,  already 
treacherous  with  midsummer  slime,  now 
brushing  lightly  against  the  willow  tips 
that  overhung  the  stream,  but  ever  with 
eyes  fixed  narrowly  upon  the  water.  Out 
side  of  Bedlam,  was  ever  creature  more 
curiously  garbed  ?  Up  to  the  knees  came  a 
pair  of  jaunty  riding-boots.  Descending 
barely  to  the  boot-tops  were  limp  skirts,  with 
torn  fringes  of  lace,  and  here  and  there  a 
tinsel  spangle.  Folded  across  the  bust,  and 
confined  by  a  canvas  belt,  was  a  flowing  pur 
ple  tunic,  whose  tattered  ends  were  caught 
up  again  under  the  belt,  out  of  the  reach  of 
the  water.  Where  the  folds  crossed  each 
other  on  the  bosom  there  was  a  glimpse  of 
29 


His  Word  of  Honor 

metal  corselet  scales,  and  where  the  bare 
arms  rounded  into  a  pair  of  perfect  shoul 
ders  there  were  absurd  epaulets  of  brass. 
To  crown  all,  set  recklessly  upon  a  mass  of 
glistening  black  hair  was  a  man's  broken- 
visored  cap. 

She  was  within  forty  feet  of  him  before  he 
got  it  through  his  head  what  she  was  doing. 
The  wretched  alder  pole  she  was  carrying 
was  no  staff,  but  a  fishing-rod ;  and  all  of  a 
sudden  she  knelt  behind  a  big  rock  mid 
stream,  and,  peering  cautiously  over  it,  let 
the  angleworm  bait — weighted  with  a  rusty 
nail — dangle  an  instant  hesitatingly,  and 
then  sink  deep  among  the  stones.  Another 
instant,  and  she  stood  erect,  grabbing  un 
erringly  at  a  quarter-pound  trout  as  it  swung 
struggling  past  her.  And  still  Colburn  sat, 
wide-eyed,  watching  the  precision  with 
which  she  pulled  to  the  front  her  basket — it 
was  an  old  coffee-pot  fastened  to  her  belt — 
and  slipped  the  cover  down  upon  the  fish 
before  the  latter  had  time  to  be  ashamed  at 
the  unscientific  manner  of  his  capture. 

The  strangely  accoutred  fisherman  tried 
the  weight  of  the  coffee-pot  once  or  twice, 
3° 


His  Word  of  Honor 

then  shifted  it  back  upon  her  hip  as  if  not 
yet  quite  satisfied.  But  the  raindrops  came 
faster  now,  and  glancing  skyward,  she 
caught  sight  of  the  hemlock  log  and  the 
pendent  legs  of  Dr.  Samuel  Colburn.  She 
gave  a  little  scream,  and  one  hand  went  up 
to  the  corselet  scales  with  an  instinctive 
gesture  that  seemed  to  Colburn  reassur 
ingly  feminine. 

He  lifted  his  hat  with  habitual  deference. 
"  Good  afternoon,  madam,"  he  remarked. 
"  You  seem  to  be  very  successful."  Samuel 
Colburn's  polished  address  to  all  sorts  and 
conditions  of  people  had  always  given  him  a 
reputation  in  North  Enderby. 

*  *  How  d'ye  do  ?"  she  answered.  Then  she 
pulled  the  ends  of  the  purple  tunic  free  from 
her  belt,  and  let  them  fall  over  the  spangled 
skirt.  He  took  her  for  a  gypsy  now,  and 
eyed  her  freely. 

"  Who  are  you  ?  "  she  demanded  curtly. 

"  My  name  is  Colburn — Dr.  Samuel  Col 
burn,"  he  added,  with  a  smile.  He  still 
liked  to  roll  his  tongue  over  the  title,  now 
some  three  weeks  old. 

"  No !  "  she  cried,  her  whole  countenance 


His  Word  of  Honor 

changing,  as  she  strode  nearer  him  through 
the  rain-dotted  water.  "  Say,  you  ain't  a 
doctor ;  what  are  you  givin'  me  ?  "  There 
was  indeed  little  that  was  professional  in  the 
doctor's  aspect. 

"  I  could  have  no  object  in  deceiving 
you,  madam,"  was  the  injured  reply,  and 
Colburn  turned  up  his  coat  collar  against 
the  rain  with  the  air  of  a  man  who  closes  the 
discussion.  It  convinced  her. 

"  Well,  if  you  are  a  doctor,"  she  de 
manded,  "  come  off  that  log.  I  want  to 
have  you  go  with  me.  It  ain't  any  time  to 
stand  foolin'  here." 

The  language  struck  him  as  too  idiomatic 
for  a  gypsy  queen's.  Who  was  she  ?  Im 
patiently  she  splashed  through  the  brook 
and  came  out  upon  the  bank  at  his  end  of 
the  log. 

"  Come  on !  "  she  repeated ;  and,  with  as 
much  alacrity  as  the  situation  would  allow, 
Colburn  hitched  along  the  log  and  scram 
bled  down  beside  her.  She  was  perhaps 
twenty-three.  He  looked  her  over  once 
more,  from  the  red  water-soaked  toes  of  her 
worn  riding-boots  up  to  the  broken-visored 
32 


His  Word  of  Honor 

cap,  upon  which  was  stamped,  in  gilt  letters : 
"  Elephant  Man  No.  7."  A  light  broke  in 
upon  him,  and,  in  spite  of  his  professional 
dignity  and  his  invariable  courtesy  to 
womankind,  he  ejaculated,  "  I  swear !  " 

"  Don't,"  she  said,  succinctly.  "  It  ain't 
right.  But  you  may  if  you  want  to,  though  ; 
I'm  a  married  woman.  Just  take  this  fish- 
pole,  will  you,  and  come  along.  Look  out 
for  that  hook;  it's  the  only  one  I've 
got.  We're  goin'  to  get  soaked  if  we  stay 
here." 

Pushing  well  behind  her  back  the  coffee 
pot,  in  which  the  latest-captured  trout  still 
flapped  a  resonant  protest,  and  gathering  up 
her  frayed  tunic  as  decorously  as  she  might, 
she  strode  off  Diana-like  through  the 
patches  of  wet  fern,  Colburn  following  won- 
deringly  in  her  train. 

IV 

Two  or  three  minutes  of  sharp  walking 

brought  them  to  the  deserted  charcoal-kilns. 

The   domes   of   rough   brickwork   loomed 

huge  against  the  rapidly  blackening  sky, 

33 


His  Word  of  Honor 

and  made  the  clearing  seem  even  lonelier. 
As  they  reached  the  low  archway,  long  since 
doorless,  that  gave  entrance  to  the  second 
kiln,  Colburn's  guide  turned  suddenly. 

"  I  didn't  introduce  myself,"  she  said, 
with  absolute  simplicity.  "  I  forgot  to  as 
soon  as  I  found  out  you  were  a  doctor.  I 
am  Mrs.  Jake  Hunter.  Come  in." 

He  leaned  the  fishing-pole  against  the 
outer  wall  of  the  kiln,  and  ducked  under  the 
doorway  after  her.  The  dusky  dome, 
twenty  feet  in  diameter,  had  once  had  an 
opening  at  the  top ;  but  this  had  been  cov 
ered  with  strips  of  hemlock  bark,  so  that  the 
only  light  came  from  the  low  doorway.  Op 
posite  the  entrance  was  a  rusty  cooking- 
stove,  propped  on  the  bricks  that  had  been 
knocked  out  of  the  wall  to  make  a  passage 
for  its  pipe.  On  either  side  were  huge  piles 
of  new  hay,  and  beyond  one  of  them,  and 
completing  the  furniture  of  the  interior, 
were  two  inverted  flour-barrels  and  a  dry- 
goods  box.  Mrs.  Jake  Hunter  walked 
swiftly  to  the  larger  of  the  hay-piles,  and 
bent  over  it.  Colburn  followed. 

"  I've  come  back,  Jake,"  she  said  cheerily ; 
34 


His  Word  of  Honor 

"  and  what  do  you  think  ?     I've  brought  the 
doctor !  " 

An  inarticulate  moan  was  the  only  an 
swer.  The  woman  bent  lower,  and  pressed 
her  hand  to  a  white,  drawn  face.  Colburn 
bent  over,  too,  and  distinguished  in  the  fail 
ing  light  a  man's  form,  stretching  to  an  ex 
traordinary  length  along  the  hay.  Rough 
bandages  were  wrapped  around  the  right 
arm  and  shoulder. 

"  Jake,  Jake !  "  called  the  woman's  clear 
voice  again.  "  Brace  up,  Jakey.  The  doc 
tor's  come — do  you  hear  ? — the  doctor !  " 

Slowly  the  eyes  opened,  and  the  muscles 
around  the  mouth,  set  in  the  stupor  of  long 
pain,  relaxed  a  little.  It  was  a  loose-hung, 
lantern-jawed  face,  mild-eyed  and  patient. 

The  man  murmured  something,  and  put 
out  his  left  hand  amicably.  Colburn  took 
it ;  it  was  feverish. 

"  Don't  you  understand,  Jake?  This  is  a 
doctor  to  see  you,"  said  the  woman,  more 
anxiously  than  before. 

This  time  Mr.  Jake  Hunter  spoke. 

"  Glad  to  see  you,  Doc,"  he  said  huskily. 
"  Say,  Doc,  have  you  any  tobacco  ?  " 
35 


His  Word  of  Honor 

Mrs.  Hunter  broke  into  a  ripple  of  laugh 
ter,  and  Colburn,  immensely  relieved,  felt  in 
his  pockets  for  a  cigar. 

"  Don't  light  it  yet,"  whispered  the  sick 
man ;  "  that's  all  right ; "  and,  closing  his 
smooth-shaven  lips  upon  it,  he  shut  his  eyes 
dreamily.  Colburn  watched  him,  every 
atom  of  professional  instinct  on  the  alert. 
Away  down  in  the  hay,  an  unconscionable 
length  from  the  cigar,  there  was  a  move 
ment,  then  another  parallel  to  it ;  Jake  Hun 
ter's  feet  were  rising  and  falling  in  rhythmic 
ecstasy.  He  had  not  tasted  tobacco  for 
three  days. 

The  young  surgeon  turned  to  his  hostess. 
"  He  seems  to  have  the  use  of  his  lower 
extremities,"  he  remarked  courteously. 
"What's  the  matter  with  his  shoulder? 
And  you  will  pardon  my  curiosity  if  I  in 
quire  what  under  the  heavens  you  and  your 
husband  are  doing  here  ?  You  are — ahem  ! 
— professional  people,  are  you  not  ?  "  He 
phrased  it  as  delicately  as  he  could. 

She  nodded  carelessly.  "Every  time. 
Did  you  ever  go  to  the  Consolidated  Pan- 
American  Show  ?  That's  where  we  belong, 
36 


His  Word  of  Honor 

Jake  and  I.  It's  the  best  show  on  the  road. 
I  used  to  ride  and  do  one  trapeze  act.  Jake's 
been  the  Boneless  Wonder  and  the  Human 
Serpent,  and  once  he  took  tickets  for  two 
weeks.  Since  he  got  hurt,  though,  he's  had 
to  take  a  job  as  elephant  man,  for  he  can't  do 
his  acts.  Don't  you  suppose  you  can  fix 
his  shoulder,  doctor?" 

"  I  can't  answer  that,"  said  Colburn,  dis 
creetly,  "  until  I  have  made  an  examination. 
What  is  the  nature  of  the  trouble,  madam  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  she  whispered  disconso 
lately,  loosening  the  coffee-pot  from  her 
belt,  and  letting  the  fish  slip  out  into  a  tin 
pan  that  was  on  the  stove-cover.  "  It  hap 
pened  six  weeks  ago  last  Sunday  morning. 
Jake  says  that  he  got  it  paintin'  the  zebra. 
You  see  they  have  to  paint  up  a  zebra  every 
Sunday.  They  take  a  different  mule  each 
week,  because  the  paint  strikes  in  and  kills 
'em.  And  that  Sunday,  Jake  says,  they  got 
to  foolin',  and  the  mule  kicked.  But  I 
think  Jake  lies.  My  belief  is,  he  got  into  a 
scrap  with  the  Australian  giant.  Mike  is 
apt  to  be  ugly  Sundays,  and  to  be  shootin' 
off  his  mouth  about  me  and  the  Kid ;  and  I 
37 


His  Word  of  Honor 

think  Jake  punched  him,  and  the  giant 
tripped  up  Jake.  There  ain't  a  man  in  the 
show  that  could  throw  Jake  in  a  fair  wrastle ; 
but  Mike  McGowan  was  always  mean." 

"  It  was  a  sprain,  then  ?  "  inquired  Col- 
burn. 

"  That's  what  the  doctor  that  travels  with 
the  show  called  it.  He  gave  Jake  some  lini 
ment,  and  said  'twould  be  all  right  next  day. 
But  it  wasn't.  It  got  worse  and  worse.  He 
couldn't  do  his  contortion  act,  and  by  and 
by  he  couldn't  do  anything  but  lead  the  baby 
elephant  in  the  grand  parade.  And  here  last 
week,  at  Brattleboro,  they  shipped  him 
from  the  show — and  that  meant  me  and  the 
Kid,  too — until  he  got  well  again.  When  he 
does  we  can  have  our  old  places,  sure;  I 
ain't  afraid  of  that.  But  just  now  it's  hard 
lines,  ain't  it?  And  all  on  account  of  that 
knock-kneed  Australian ! " 

Colburn  opened  his  eyes  a  little  wider 
still,  and  peered  around  the  darkening  kiln 
for  some  evidence  of  the  existence  of  a  child. 

The  rain  was  falling  in  torrents  now,  and 
the  drops  splashed  in  from  the  doorway  al 
most  to  the  feet  of  the  Boneless  Wonder. 
38 


His  Word  of  Honor 

Mrs.  Hunter  poked  at  the  lower  door  of  the 
stove  with  the  tip  of  the  soaked  boot,  and 
her  bare  arms  seemed  to  be  shivering.  Sud 
denly  she  recalled  herself  to  the  present. 

"  Look  here ;  we  can't  stand  around  in 
this  style,  can  we?  You  just  push  that  box 
against  the  door,  will  you,  doctor?  Jake'll 
get  wet.  And  you  can't  look  at  his  shoul 
der  till  I  get  my  lantern  goin',  anyhow.  I 
guess  I'll  touch  up  this  fire  and  get  the  fish 
on,  because  the  Kid  is  liable  to  wake  up  any 
minute  now,  and  then  I'll  have  to  stop  to  let 
him  have  some  supper." 

The  last  information  was  imparted  to  the 
doctor  with  maternal  pride.  By  the  time 
that  Colburn  had  successfully  barricaded 
the  doorway  against  the  storm,  the  ex- 
equestrienne  had  lighted  the  fire,  and  was 
rapidly  dressing  the  trout  on  a  barrel-head. 

"  Do  you  like  your  trout  dressed  ?  "  she 
inquired  affably. 

Colburn,  warming  his  wet  fingers  above 

the  crackling  stove,  admitted  his  preference. 

"  So  does  Jake.     Don't  some  folks  think 

they're   sweeter   if   you   fry   'em   with   the 

in'ards  ?     In  Michigan  my  mamma  used  to 

39 


His  Word  of  Honor 

cook  'em  that  way ;  but  after  we  moved  to 
York  State  she  made  us  girls  dress  'em — and 
catch  'em,  too,  'most  generally.  My  pop 
was  lazy,  'most  too  lazy  to  fish.  Say,  it's 
lucky  I  found  that  hook  an'  line,  ain't  it? 
Those  camping  fellows  must  have  left  it. 
Oh,  I  didn't  tell  you  about  those  camping 
fellows ;  I  started  to,  and  forgot  it." 

A  hoarse  whisper  from  the  hay-pile  inter 
rupted  her,  and  she  took  the  cracked  lantern 
and  held  it  close  to  her  husband's  face. 
Soon  she  came  back  with  his  cigar. 

"  Jake  wants  to  light  up  now,"  she  said 
affectionately.  "  You  don't  suppose  he'll 
set  fire  to  that  hay,  do  you  ?  "  and,  snatching 
a  burning  stick  from  the  stove,  she  lighted 
the  cigar  dexterously,  and  put  it  into  the 
mouth  of  her  consort.  Then  she  passed 
swiftly  to  the  smaller  pile  of  hay,  and 
stooped  over  it  a  moment  with  a  smile. 

"  You  see,"  she  continued,  returning  to 
the  stove,  and  rubbing  a  slice  of  pork  over 
the  frying-pan  before  she  slid  the  trout  into 
it,  "  we  started  to  walk  from  Brattleboro 
over  to  Bennington  County,  where  I've  got 
relations.  It  went  slow,  I  tell  you !  Jake's 
40 


His  Word  of  Honor 

shoulder  and  arm  hurt  him  so  that  he  had  to 
swear  every  step  of  the  way ;  and  I  carried 
the  Kid,  and  he's  an  awful  heavy  one,  for 
ten  weeks !  And  I  guess  our  clothes  kind  o* 
gave  us  away.  Someone  stole  my  dresses 
the  night  before  we  started — all  but  one  and 
a  shawl.  And  I  sold  that  shawl  to  a  peddler 
for  some  liniment  for  Jake  the  first  day. 
And  the  dress  was  about  gone ;  when  I  tore 
it  up  last  night  to  make  a  bandage  for  Jake, 
there  wa'n't  much  left.  Well,  these  campers 
struck  us,  and  had  a  talk  with  Jake,  and  told 
us  to  come  right  here.  They'd  left  some 
things  for  another  lot  of  fellows  that  was 
coming  next  Saturday — the  stove  and  pan 
and  kettle,  you  see,  and  some  potatoes  and 
pork  and  coffee.  Guess  they  thought  we 
were  pretty  bad  off.  They  said  they'd  send 
a  selectman  here,  and  a  doctor ;  but  he  hasn't 
come,  and  I  can't  leave  Jake  and  the  Kid 
long  enough  to  go  for  anyone,  if  I  knew  the 
way;  and  the  potatoes  are  most  gone,  and 
it's  lucky  I  thought  of  going  fishin'  this  af 
ternoon,  after  the  Kid  got  asleep.  But 
we're  all  right  now.  I  tell  you,  I'm  all-fired 
glad  to  see  you,  doctor." 
41 


His  Word  of  Honor 

He  bowed  in  acknowledgment  of  this 
compliment  to  the  omnipotence  of  his  pro 
fession,  though  with  inward  dismay  at  the 
responsibility  imposed  upon  him.  But  the 
fragrant  odor  from  the  frying-pan  was  a 
temporary  alleviation.  Mrs.  Hunter  was 
turning  the  trout  with  one  hand,  and  thrust 
ing  a  fork  into  the  pot  of  boiling  potatoes 
with  the  other.  Her  arms  were  a  deep  pink 
now,  and  the  brass  epaulets  gleamed  curi 
ously  in  the  firelight.  She  detected  his  gaze. 

"  Well,"  she  said,  with  a  touch  of  defiance 
in  her  tone,  "  I  ain't  dressed  exactly  as  a 
lady  should  be,  that's  a  fact.  But  Jake's 
shoulder  was  so  cold  last  night,  and  I  tore 
the  dress  up — there !  and  I  put  on  this.  Jake 
had  it  in  his  bundle.  But  it  does  look  queer, 
don't  it,  doctor  ?  " 

The  doctor  admitted  that  when  he  first 
saw  it  the  costume  struck  him  as  singular. 

"  It's  what  they  wear  in  Tyre,  you  know," 
she  explained.  "  I  suppose  it  does  look  sort 
of  out  of  place  here.  You  see,  I  was  sick 
for  awhile  after  the  Kid  came,  and  I  couldn't 
ride  any  more,  and  it  made  me  dizzy  just  to 
look  at  a  trapeze.  So  I  wa'n't  anything  but 
42 


His  Word  of  Honor 

a  maid  of  Tyre.  You've  seen  the  Fall  of 
Tyre  ?  Well,  I  was  the  third  maid  from  the 
end,  on  the  temple  side,  and  I  tell  you  it 
seemed  slow,  after  the  ring.  Nothing  to  do 
but  to  wave  these  purple  skirts,  grip  your 
epaulets — so  fashion — and  yell !  Now,  doc 
tor,  if  you'll  get  two  plates  from  that  barrel, 
we'll  begin.  I'll  save  enough  for  Jake. 
Here,  I'll  show  you." 

She  set  the  two  plates  on  the  stove-hearth, 
and  filled  them  with  trout  and  potatoes ;  then 
she  poured  some  coffee  into  a  tomato-can, 
and  placed  it  hospitably  at  his  side  of  the 
hearth.  "  You  can  have  the  first  drink,"  she 
said ;  "  there's  only  one  cup." 

Then  she  dropped  upon  her  side  of  the 
stove  in  a  most  companionable  way,  and  be 
gan  to  eat  ravenously. 

Outside,  the  rain  gusts  were  sweeping 
fiercely,  and  echoes  of  the  thunder  that  was 
bursting  over  Big  Swamp  rumbled  in  the 
hollow  vault  of  the  coal-kiln.  Before  long 
there  was  a  tiny  stir  and  rustle  in  the  pile  of 
hay  behind  Colburn's  back,  and  the  wife  of 
the  Boneless  Wonder  lifted  her  head  to  lis 
ten.  Then  she  leaped  up  with  a  look  that 
43 


His  Word  of  Honor 

made  the  young  doctor  think  her,  for  the 
moment,  radiantly  beautiful. 

"  It's  the  Kid !  "  she  exclaimed,  and  in  a 
minute  was  back  again,  on  her  knees  before 
the  fire,  clucking  to  the  child.  It  wriggled 
hungrily,  then  caught  sight  of  the  glowing 
chink  in  the  stove  door,  and  stared  at  it  with 
serious  black  eyes. 

"  Ain't  he  a  splendid  baby,  doctor  ?  You 
ought  to  see  the  fat  on  his  little  legs!  I 
want  to  call  him  Reginald;  but  Jake  he's 
stuck  on  Adoniram,  because  he  had  a 
brother  of  that  name  who  died  of  lockjaw. 
Which  do  you  think  sounds  best,  doctor? 
Perhaps  we'll  call  him  both.  Oh,  you  cun- 
nin'  little  clown !  Does  you  want  your  sup 
per  ?  "  And  she  buried  her  nose  in  the  pink 
folds  of  the  baby's  neck,  and  lost  her  breath, 
and  caught  it,  and  spent  it  again  in  inarticu 
late  maternal  speech;  and  then  she  turned 
her  back  skilfully  on  the  doctor,  and  com 
manded  him,  over  her  shoulder,  to  keep 
Jake's  trout  from  getting  burned. 

"  I  can't  'tend  to  it  just  now,"  she  conde 
scended  to  explain ;  and  Colburn  silently 
obeyed.     Ten  minutes  passed  thus. 
44 


His  Word  of  Honor 

"  Now,  don't  you  want  to  hold  him  just  a 
minute,  doctor,  while  I  give  Jake  some  sup 
per?" 

The  astonished  young  graduate  of  the  P. 
and  S.  drew  a  long  breath,  but  crooked  his 
left  elbow  without  a  word,  and  received  the 
burden.  Yet  no  reluctant  bachelor  had  ever 
a  lighter  task.  The  Kid  blinked  up  at  him 
benignantly ;  and  when  Colburn  ventured  to 
touch  its  cheeks  with  his  forefinger,  they 
dimpled  in  a  way  that  reminded  him,  singu 
larly  enough,  of  Juletta's  when  she  was  a 
girl.  Then  it  nestled  closer  in  his  arms, 
brought  its  pink  fists  together  under  its 
chin,  gave  a  queer  little  satisfied  shudder, 
and  could  keep  the  grave  eyes  open  but  an 
instant  more. 

At  intervals  Colburn  overheard  the  young 
woman's  cheery  whisperings  to  Jake  Hun 
ter,  between  the  administered  mouthfuls  of 
trout  and  potato.  The  doctor  would  know 
right  away  what  was  the  matter ;  he  was  such 
a  splendid  doctor,  she  knew— he  held  the 
baby  so  natural !  And  Sam  Colburn  grew 
more  nervous  with  each  instant.  It  was 
pitiful  to  see  the  trust  she  had  suddenly  re- 
45 


His  Word  of  Honor 

posed  in  him.  He  hated  to  disappoint  her, 
but  what,  after  all,  was  the  chance  of  his 
being  able  to  do  anything?  If  he  had  the 
contortionist  on  a  comfortable  bed  in  the 
long  ward  of  the  hospital,  with  a  history  of 
the  case  and  a  full  set  of  surgeon's  supplies, 
and  Dr.  Warburton  to  look  in  twice  a  day  to 
see  that  everything  was  going  well,  why, 
that  was  another  matter!  But  up  here  in 
southern  Vermont,  with  a  deserted  char 
coal-kiln  for  sole  refuge  against  the  storm, 
four  miles  from  a  human  habitation,  and  he 
himself,  the  champion  of  science,  absolutely 
empty-handed  for  the  struggle  against  pain, 
was  he  not  well-nigh  impotent?  Yet  he 
was  a  born  surgeon,  like  his  father  before 
him,  and  the  instant  Reginald  Adoniram 
was  laid  back  in  the  nest  of  hay,  Colburn 
was  at  Jake  Hunter's  side,  asking  shrewd 
questions.  He  learned  nothing,  except  that 
Mrs.  Hunter's  suspicions  as  to  the  Aus 
tralian  giant  had  been  well  founded.  Col- 
burn  took  off  his  coat,  and  began  to  uncover 
the  bandaged  shoulder  and  right  arm.  The 
Maid  of  Tyre,  eager-faced,  held  the  battered 
lantern  close.  Cowering  upon  his  left  side, 
46 


His  Word  of  Honor 

the  sick  man  quivered  at  each  touch  as  Col- 
burn  passed  his  fingers  lightly  over  the 
swollen  muscles.  According  to  Dr.  War- 
burton,  it  was  the  most  delicate  hand  in  the 
P.  and  S. ;  and  as  it  moved  slowly  over  the 
point  of  the  shoulder,  Colburn  stopped, 
while  a  slight  exclamation  of  surprise  es 
caped  him.  Once  more  the  fingers  passed 
over  the  point,  very,  very  deliberately,  and 
with  a  greater  pressure.  Jake  Hunter 
groaned.  Then  Colburn  put  one  arm  un 
der  the  Wonder,  and  pulling  him  half-way 
up  in  bed,  caressed  the  left  shoulder  in  sim 
ilar  fashion,  then  the  right  one  once  more, 
then  the  left  again.  His  own  pulse  was 
bounding ;  could  he  possibly  be  right  ?  His 
voice  shook  a  little  with  excitement  as  he 
turned  to  the  Maid. 

"  Hold  that  right  arm  out — so ;  never 
mind  the  lantern.  Now,  hold  it  steady ;  just 
brace  your  foot  against  mine."  Jake 
groaned  again. 

"  One  minute  more,  my  man." 

The  most  delicate  hands  in  the  P.  and  S. 
were  gripping  him  as  in  a  vise ;  it  pained  like 
fire. 

47 


His  Word  of  Honor 

"There!" 

There  was  a  snap,  a  sort  of  smothered 
click  as  from  a  well-oiled  breech-loader,  and 
the  Boneless  Wonder,  profanely  ejaculating, 
was  deposited  tenderly  upon  his  left  side. 
Colburn's  eyes  sparkled  with  triumph.  He 
turned  to  Mrs.  Jake  Hunter  with  an  easy 
smile. 

"The  case  was  improperly  diagnosed  at 
the  outset,  madam.  There  was  no  strain; 
it  was  a  simple  dislocation  of  the  humerus. 
He'll  get  better  now." 

The  look  in  her  face  repaid  him  for  every 
thing. 

"  What  did  you  say  Jake  had  ?  "  she  asked, 
in  an  awe-struck  but  happy  voice. 

"  Dislocation  of  the  humerus ;  that  is,  his 
shoulder  was  out  of  joint — and  no  one  told 
him  so." 

Professional  discretion  forbade  further 
comment  on  Dr.  Colburn's  part;  but  poor 
Jake  Hunter,  feeling  no  such  restriction  to 
expression,  gave  utterance  to  a  single  fluent 
and  heartfelt  and  unquotable  sentence  which 
covered  the  entire  ground.  The  Maid  of 
Tyre  nodded  a  loyal  but  somewhat  alarmed 
48 


His  Word  of  Honor 

assent  to  the  malediction,  and  then  watched 
Colburn  with  open-eyed  admiration  as  he 
re-bandaged  the  shoulder  in  the  most 
approved  P.  and  S.  style.  The  process  re 
duced  Reginald  Adoniram's  stock  of  safety- 
pins  to  three ;  but  Colburn  himself  was  tol 
erably  satisfied  with  the  result,  considering 
all  the  circumstances.  As  he  finished,  the 
Boneless  Wonder  spoke  again : 

"  Say,  Doc,  if  you'd  put  that  cigar-stub 
into  my  mouth,  so  that  I  could  just  feel  'twas 
there,  I  believe  I  could  go  to  sleep.  I  ain't 
slept  for  three  nights." 

He  closed  his  eyes  contentedly,  and  Mrs. 
Hunter  stroked  his  lank  cheek,  and  piled 
the  hay  more  warmly  above  him.  Then  she 
took  a  peep  at  the  Kid,  and  came  back  to 
the  stove,  where  Colburn  stood  looking  at 
his  watch.  It  was  half-past  nine.  The 
thunder  had  rolled  to  the  northward,  but  the 
rain  still  fell  heavily. 


49 


His  Word  of  Honor 

V 

"  WELL,"  he  said,  as  much  to  himself  as  to 
her. 

She  replenished  the  fire,  and  dropped  into 
her  former  posture  beside  it. 

"  He'll  go  to  sleep  now,  sure,"  she  replied 
softly.  "  Jake's  awful  good.  He  hasn't 
said  one  cuss-word  at  me,  you  know,  in  all 
this  time.  You'd  better  sit  down,  doctor; 
you  look  real  tired.  Is  there  much  sickness 
round  here?  " 

Colburn  threw  himself  down  upon  the 
other  side  of  the  stove,  without  noticing  her 
question. 

"  I  declare,"  she  continued,  "  I  never 
thought  till  this  minute  that  somebody  else 
might  be  waitin'  for  you,  somebody  as  bad 
off  as  Jake.  I  saw  you  on  that  log,  and  said, 
'  Come  along,'  without  thinkin'.  I  was  just 
tickled  to  death.  Were  you  goin'  to  see  a 
sick  man,  doctor?  " 

Colburn  shook  his  head.  She  seemed  re 
lieved. 

"  Come  to  think,  you  didn't  seem  in  much 
of  a  hurry,  did  you  ?  You  were  sittin'  there, 


His  Word  of  Honor 

bareback  fashion,  as  if  you  didn't  know 
whether  to  take  another  turn  around  the 
ring  or  not."  She  smiled  amiably  as  she 
drew  this  picture.  "  How  far  do  you  live 
from  here,  doctor?" 

"About  six  miles,"  he  replied  dryly ;  "  that 
is,  if  you  take  the  short  cut  through  the 
swamp." 

"  Good  gracious !  You  can't  go  back  to 
night  in  all  this  rain!  You'd  better  stay 
right  here.  I've  got  wood  enough  to  keep 
the  fire  goin',  and  there  is  more  hay  there 
than  the  Kid  needs.  You  see,  we  ain't  ex 
actly  to  home  ourselves,"  she  added,  as  if  in 
apology  for  any  defect  in  hospitality.  "  This 
is  only  sort  o'  campin'  out." 

"  What  do  you  expect  to  do  in  the  morn 
ing?  "  he  asked  abruptly. 

"  I  don't  know,"  the  Tyrian  Maid  an 
swered,  with  girlish  carelessness.  "  Just 
now  we're  livin'  one  day  at  a  time.  Perhaps 
that  selectman'll  come.  The  boys  said 
they'd  be  sure  to  send  him.  I  guess  we'd 
be  on  the  town  then,  wouldn't  we  ?  "  she 
laughed. 

"  How  far  is  it  to  the  place  where  your 


His  Word  of  Honor 

relatives  live  ?  "  persisted  Colburn.  "  Would 
they  do  anything  for  you  ?  " 

"  Jake  figured  out  that  Huckleville  was 
about  fifteen  miles  from  here.  Yes ;  I  sup 
pose  my  cousin's  folks  there  would  be  awful 
glad  to  see  us.  It  ain't  as  if  Jake  were  goin' 
to  be  sick  on  their  hands  now,  you  see.  I 
lived  with  'em  the  year  before  I  was  married. 
Why,  I  worked  one  week  in  the  mill  where 
my  cousin's  the  boss  spinner — watchin'  a 
big  machine  that  makes  seamless  under 
shirts." 

"  Very  good,"  said  Colburn,  gravely.  "  If 
I  can  think  of  some  way  to  get  you  and  your 
husband  over  there,  how  would  it  do  for  you 
to  settle  down  with  your  own  folks,  and  go 
into  the  mill  ?  Haven't  you  had  enough  of 
the  show  business  ?  " 

She  shrugged  the  brass  epaulets.  "  Stop 
ridin'  ?  "  she  burst  out,  "  and  Jake  stop  his 
acts  ?  And  neither  of  us  see  anythin'  or  do 
anythin'  any  more,  but  just  stand  around  a 
room  'and  see  a  big  oily  machine  chew  up 
rags  and  spit  out  undershirts  ?  No,  siree !  " 
She  stretched  out  one  of  the  worn  riding- 
boots,  and  flicked  at  it  with  an  imaginary 
52 


His  Word  of  Honor 

whip,  muttering  gayly  a  hoarse  "  Go  on !  " 
which,  more  than  anything  she  had  yet  said, 
was  suggestive  of  the  sawdust  circle. 

Colburn  looked  at  her  and  laughed. 
They  both  were  in  the  twenties,  after  all,  and 
he  liked  her  for  knowing  what  she  liked  best. 

"  But  the  little  fellow  ?  "  he  ventured.  "  A 
show  must  be  a  rather  inconvenient  place  to 
bring  up  a  child  in."  Sam  Colburn  did  not 
know  why  he  should  be  talking  in  this  supe 
rior  strain  to  Mrs.  Hunter,  except  that  he 
was  conscious  of  a  strong  curiosity  as  to 
her  point  of  view. 

"  Oh,"  she  said,  reproachfully,  "  he  likes 
it !  Of  course,  he's  some  bother  just  now ; 
but  just  think  what  a  daisy  time  he'll  have 
when  he's  grown  up,  playin'  with  the  trick 
ponies,  and  ridin'  the  baby  elephant !  And 
Jake  an'  I  are  going  to  teach  him  some 
trapeze  acts  as  soon  as  he's  big  enough  to 
sit  the  bar,  and  we'll  have  the  Hunter  family 
jn — let's  see  ;  how's  it  billed  ?  '  Aerial  Evo 
lutions.'  That's  it!  And  it'll  be  a  real 
family,  too — none  of  them  fakes." 

Colburn  surrendered.  "  I  wish  the  Hun 
ter  family  every  prosperity,"  he  said,  in  his 
53 


His  Word  of  Honor 

most  perfect  form.  "  And,  if  you  don't 
mind,  I  think  I'll  accept  your  invitation  to 
spend  the  night.  In  the  morning  we'll 
see  what  can  be  done."  She  nodded  non 
chalantly  at  the  last  sentence,  and  then 
glanced  around  the  coal-kiln.  From  one 
hay-pile  her  husband's  heavy  breathing  gave 
assurance  of  the  long-hoped-for  sleep;  in 
the  other  Reginald  Adoniram,  still  more 
silently,  was  following  his  father's  example. 

"  Are  you  a  married  man,  doctor?  " 

Colburn  shook  his  head.  The  informa 
tion  evidently  perturbed  her  a  little. 

"  Oh !  "  she  exclaimed,  "  I  supposed  doc 
tors  always  were.  I  was  goin'  to  say,"  she 
continued,  hesitatingly,  "  that,  bein'  a  mar 
ried  man,  you  wouldn't  be  so  much  put  out 
if  the  Kid  woke  up  by  and  by ;  that's  all." 

"  Not  in  the  least,"  was  Colburn's  assur 
ance.  But  Mrs.  Hunter  was  conscious  of 
being  disappointed  in  her  new  acquaintance. 

"  Ain't  you  even  engaged  ?  "  she  persisted. 

Colburn  nodded,  looking  at  the  crack  in 
the  stove  door. 

"  You  are  ? "  was  the  triumphant  re 
sponse.  "  I  thought  you  were — married,  or 
54 


His  Word  of  Honor 

engaged,  or  somethin'.     You  see,  the  Kid 
took  to  you  right  away !  " 

Upon  this  specimen  of  feminine  logic  Col- 
burn  made  no  comment. 

"  Doctor,"  said  Mrs.  Hunter,  coaxingly, 
"  would  you  be  mad  if  I  asked  you  to  tell  me 
her  first  name?  I'm  awful  fond  of  names." 

"  Her  name,"  said  Colburn,  still  without 
looking  up,  "  is  Juletta." 

"  My !  "  she  exclaimed,  "  I  never  heard 
that  one  before.  She  must  be  real  nice." 

Again  Colburn  nodded  gravely,  with  his 
eyes  fixed  on  the  stove.  There  was  one 
more  question  which  the  Tyrian  Maid  was 
burning  to  ask,  but  she  did  not  dare  ask  it 
openly. 

"  I  wonder,"  she  suggested,  with  a  fine  in 
difference,  "  if  you've  been  engaged  as  long 
as  Jake  and  I  were.  We  were  engaged  to 
be  married  a  whole  year — a  whole  year.  He 
was  in  the  show,  and  I  waited  for  him  to 
come  round  to  York  State  again.  Twelve 
months  is  a  terrible  long  time  for  a  woman 
to  wait." 

"  Is  it?  "  said  Colburn,  absently. 

"  I   guess   you'd   think   so !"   she   cried, 
55 


His  Word  of  Honor 

"  especially  as  Jake  and  I  only  knew  each 
other  three  days  when  he  had  to  move  on 
with  the  show!  You  see,  he  was  takin' 
tickets  then.  I  saw  him  twice  Saturday, 
and  Sunday  we  were  introduced;  and  the 
circus  train  had  to  leave  Monday  night 
about  an  hour  after  we  got  engaged.  That 
was  at  Malone,  York  State.  And  I  said  I'd 
wait  for  Jake  till  the  show  came  round 
again."  Still  the  doctor  seemed  reluctant 
to  exchange  confidences,  and  she  went  on : 

"  My  folks  didn't  like  it,  and  sent  me  over 
to  my  cousin's,  up  here  in  Huckleville ;  and 
they  all  laughed  at  my  wantin'  to  marry  a 
circus  man.  They  said  'twas  just  because 
pop  had  always  raised  colts,  and  I  could  ride 
'em  bareback.  You  see,  they  didn't  know 
Jake.  He  was  mighty  good.  He  used  to 
write  every  Sunday.  I've  got  letters  from 
every  State  in  the  United  States  except 
fourteen.  And  next  year,  sure  enough, 
there  was  Jake;  and  I  just  skipped  from 
Huckleville  to  Malone,  and  we  got  married. 
But  that  year  was  as  long  as  five." 

"  I  would  like  to  ask,"  said  Colburn,  rais 
ing  his  eyes  suddenly,  "  what  you  would 

56 


His  Word  of  Honor 

have  done  if  he  had  taken  up  with  somebody 
else — married  another  girl — after  you  had 
waited  for  him  all  that  time.  What  would 
you  have  done  ?  " 

"  If  he'd  gone  back  on  me,  you  mean?  " 
she  cried.  "  My !  I  don't  know.  But  you 
ain't  on  to  Jake,  or  you  wouldn't  have  said 
that.  Jake  ain't  that  kind.  Why,  Jake's  a 
Christian!  He  will  swear,  you  know, 
'cause  he  was  raised  in  North  Car'liny,  and 
swore  when  he  was  a  boy ;  but  that's  all.  He 
couldn't  go  back  on  a  woman !  There  are 
such  folks,  sure  enough.  I  tell  you,  you 
don't  know  how  many  of  'em  there  are  till 
you  travel  awhile  with  a  show.  But  Jake 
ain't  one  of  'em.  He  ain't  mean  enough. 
Why,  the  man  that  goes  back  on  a  woman  is 
too  mean  to  live !  "  Her  eyes  sparkled,  and 
she  set  her  lips  scornfully.  In  her  resent 
ment  of  any  imputation  against  Jake  Hun 
ter's  honor,  she  quite  forgot  her  adroit  little 
ruse  for  finding  out  the  length  of  the  doctor's 
engagement.  A  moment  later  she  recalled 
it ;  but  Colburn  had  dropped  his  face  to  the 
firelight  again,  as  if  in  disinclination  to  pur 
sue  the  subject.  It  was  a  handsome  face, 
57 


His  Word  of  Honor 

she  reflected,  but  he  looked  played  out.  Her 
woman's  kindness  then  got  the  better  of  her 
flagging  curiosity,  and  she  suggested  that  it 
might  be  time  for  him  to  go  to  bed. 

She  filled  up  the  stove  again,  made  a 
shake-down  of  hay  in  front  of  it,  bade  him 
good  night  a  trifle  shyly,  and  then  he  heard 
her  cuddle  down  by  Reginald  Adoniram, 
and  draw  the  thin  blanket  over  the  child  and 
herself.  Soon  the  rustling  ceased,  and 
there  was  no  sound  but  the  hard  breathing 
of  Hunter  and  the  mellow  swish  of  the  rain 
against  the  huge  dome  of  the  coal-kiln. 

Silently  the  young  doctor  stretched  him 
self  out  before  the  stove,  his  head  propped 
upon  one  hand,  and  his  eyes  still  gazing  at 
the  chink  of  flame.  The  enthusiasm  over 
his  professional  triumph,  which  had  filled 
them  a  half-hour  before,  had  departed  and 
left  them  rather  haggard.  It  seemed  a  life 
time  since  he  made  those  fruitless  circles  in 
the  swamp,  trying  all  the  while  to  make  up 
his  mind.  It  was  like  an  unreal  experience, 
a  sort  of  dream,  out  of  which  he  had  been 
suddenly  thrust  into  life  itself,  into  contact 
with  anxiety,  joy,  pain,  humor,  devotion. 
58 


His  Word  of  Honor 

A  disabled  contortionist,  a  Tyrian  Maid,  a 
grave-eyed  baby,  were  sleeping  within  ten 
feet  of  him,  hushed  by  the  brooding  wings 
of  who  knows  what  beings  that  wait  upon 
birth  and  love  and  sorrow  and  sleep  and 
death.  The  man,  the  woman,  and  the  child 
were  real,  and  Colburn  shut  his  lips  in  the 
resolve  that,  whatever  became  of  his  word  of 
honor,  he  would  not  desert  them  on  the 
morrow.  He  was  back  once  more  in  the 
county  where  he  had  been  brought  up,  and 
they  were  to  him  as  his  own  people.  The 
heart  of  Mrs.  Jake  Hunter  was  simple  and 
affectionate,  like  the  hearts  that  had  sur 
rounded  him  from  his  cradle.  What  mat 
tered  it  that  she  had  been  mastered  by  the 
rural  passion  for  the  show  ?  Was  it  a  worse 
show  than  the  one  he  himself,  a  country  boy, 
had  been  performing  in  for  the  last  six 
months?  Usher  at  eleven  weddings,  and 
best  man  three  times!  The  audience  had 
given  him  plenty  of  applause;  yes,  there 
was  no  doubt  that  he  had  done  his  acts  clev 
erly,  especially  that  brilliant  feat  of  riding 
two  horses  at  once! 

Colburn  dropped  his  face  upon  his  arm 
59 


His  Word  of  Honor 

and  groaned.  Terribly  clear  before  his 
vision  lay  those  six  delicious  months  that 
had  closed  with  his  call  upon  Elinor  War- 
burton.  He  had  been  tempted,  and  had  not 
been  strong.  The  great  surgeon,  childless 
except  for  this  girl,  and  with  a  practice  that 
would  have  turned  the  head  of  another  man, 
had  liked  his  steady-going,  smooth-voiced 
pupil  from  Vermont,  and  had  liked  to  have 
his  daughter  like  him.  Nothing  had  been 
said,  of  course — it  was  from  her  father  that 
the  girl  inherited  her  pride — but  Colburn's 
path  had  been  made  easy.  And  how  easily 
he  had  strolled  down  it,  glancing  more  at 
the  slender,  wayward  figure  beside  him,  it  is 
true,  than  at  the  path  itself.  It  all  seemed 
so  pleasurably  natural  then.  Now,  lying 
face  downward  in  the  dusky  kiln,  he  saw  ex 
actly  whither  he  had  been  straying  at  her 
side,  and  he  recoiled.  He  had  been  on  the 
verge  of  treachery.  He  belonged  in  Mrs. 
Jake  Hunter's  category  of  the  men  that  are 
too  mean  to  live. 

Five  years  Juletta  had  waited  for  him — 
five  whole  years.     Yet  the  December  night 
when  she  had  definitely  promised  herself  to 
60 


His  Word  of  Honor 

him  was  no  longer  ago  than  yesterday.  They 
were  on  their  way  home  from  a  sleighing- 
party,  the  old  horse  picking  his  way  soberly 
along  the  drifted  road,  the  runners  creaking 
in  the  frosty  air,  and  the  glittering  snow- 
fields  spreading  wide  around  them  in  the 
moonlight.  How  cold  her  cheek  had  been 
when  his  own  had  touched  it,  and  how  she 
had  looked  up  at  him !  Was  ever  such  utter 
trustfulness,  such  absolute  rapture,  in  a 
girl's  face?  And  through  all  the  months 
and  years  that  followed,  how  invariably 
sweet  had  been  her  patient  waiting,  how 
proud  she  was  of  his  student  triumphs  and 
social  favor,  how  unstained  had  been  her 
loyalty ! 

Colburn  pressed  his  closed  eyes  upon  his 
arm  in  a  paroxysm  of  remorse.  That  was 
the  woman  whom  for  months  he  had  been 
neglecting,  bent  upon  getting  the  most 
pleasure  out  of  his  last  winter  in  New  York. 
He  had  left  his  own  people  to  do  trick-riding 
in  a  show.  And  worse  than  this  he  might 
have  done  if,  on  his  way  to  Walter  Ken 
nedy's  that  afternoon,  he  had  not  spied  the 
Maid  of  Tyre !  "  The  man  that  goes  back 
61 


His  Word  of  Honor 

on  a  woman  ?  "     "  The  man  that  goes  back 
on  a  woman  ?  " 

Following  the  wave  of  remorse  came  wave 
upon  wave  of  passion.  If  he  could  only  see 
her  at  that  moment,  could  touch  her  finger 
tips  even,  could  ask  her  to  take  him  back 
again!  What  would  she  say?  Ah,  she 
would  say  nothing.  She  would  simply  look 
him  in  the  eyes  and  smile  forgiveness ;  she 
would  bend  toward  him — the  young  fellow 
trembled  as  he  had  not  since  that  December 
night  when  he  had  kissed  her  first. 

Hour  after  hour  he  lay  there,  falling  at 
intervals  into  a  troubled  sleep.  Once  he 
was  wakened  by  a  rustling  of  hay  on  the 
other  side  of  the  dark  kiln,  and  the  insistent 
fretting  of  the  child,  followed  by  instant  still 
ness,  and  the  low  laugh  to  herself  of  a 
woman  who  was  happy.  Then  all  was  quiet 
again,  except  the  raindrops  that  beat  in 
irregular  intervals  against  the  worn  brick 
dome.  To  Colburn's  overwrought  fancy 
they  seemed  to  be  pattering  in  rhythm,  in  five 
staccato  notes :  "  The  man  that  goes  back — 
the  man  that  goes  back  " — then,  gathering  im 
petus,  "the  man  that  goes  back  on  a  woman" 
62 


His  Word  of  Honor 

— then,  pausing  ominously,  and  closing  the 
cadence  with  full  tones  that  smote  upon  his 
brain  in  persistent  iteration,  "  is  too  mean  to 
live." 


VI 

HE  was  roused  next  morning  by  some 
one  pushing  the  dry-goods  box  from  the 
doorway.  Sunlight  flooded  the  kiln.  Col- 
burn  and  the  Maid  sprang  to  their  feet 
simultaneously,  and,  seeing  a  pair  of  wet 
rubber  boots  beyond  the  arch,  Colburn 
stooped  and  went  out.  It  was  Walter  Ken 
nedy's  father,  first  selectman  of  the  town 
ship,  with  a  stout  farm-wagon,  and  his  wife 
on  the  back  seat. 

"  The  land  sakes !  You  here,  Sam  ?  Are 
they  dead  ?  "  was  her  despondent  exclama 
tion. 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it,"  said  the  graduate  of  the 
P.  and  S.  "  The  case  is  progressing  very 
well.  But  we  are  rather  short  of  breakfast, 
and  I  am  glad  to  see  you." 

"Well,   it's  lucky   Abel   got  home   last 
night,"  ejaculated  Mrs.  Kennedy,  descend- 
63 


His  Word  of  Honor 

ing  ponderously  from  the  wagon.  "  Those 
campers  sent  word  only  yesterday  afternoon 
that  there  was  a  family  in  awful  trouble  here, 
and  that  they  wa'n't  really  respectable.  Who 
sent  for  you  ?  Abel,  just  hitch  those  horses, 
and  take  out  that  lunch-basket,  and  we'll  go 
right  in.  Dear  me !  " 

"  Mrs.  Kennedy,  my  friend  Mrs.  Hun 
ter,"  remarked  Sam  Colburn,  with  his  old 
fondness  for  the  formalities. 

The  farmer's  wife  gave  one  shocked 
glance  toward  Dr.  Colburn's  friend,  and 
handed  her  own  shawl  to  the  Maid  without 
a  word.  But  her  heart  opened  to  Reginald 
Adoniram,  whom  she  forthwith  took  to  her 
ample  bosom,  and  proceeded  to  exhibit  to 
Abel  with  an  air  of  old  proprietorship. 

It  was  nine  o'clock  before  the  Hunters 
and  their  attendant  physician  had  break 
fasted,  and  the  Boneless  Wonder's  shoulder- 
blade  had  been  firmly  rebandaged.  While 
the  women,  mutually  hostile  at  heart,  united 
in  making  Reginald  Adoniram's  morning 
toilet,  Mr.  Kennedy  succeeded  in  making 
Colburn  agree  with  him  that  the  best  thing 
to  be  done  now  was  for  him,  in  his  capacity 
64 


His  Word  of  Honor 

of  selectman,  to  take  the  "  circus  people  "  on 
to  Huckleville  at  once. 

"  You  see,"  argued  the  thrifty  Vermonter, 
"  they'll  be  a  town  charge  if  they  stay  here, 
and  it  ain't  likely  we  could  collect  anything 
from  Huckleville.  I  guess  it  can't  be  more'n 
sixteen  miles  from  here,  if  I  take  the  Ridge 
road,  and  then  they'll  be  with  their  friends. 
Wife  and  I've  got  lunch  enough,  and  we  can 
go  right  along  over  there.  I  wa'n't  expect 
ing  to  cut  any  hay  to-day,  anyway ;  and  " — 
with  a  solemn  wink  at  Colburn — "  I  s'pose  I 
can  make  my  four  dollars  a  day — '  self  and 
team,'  you  know — on  town  business.  I 
think  we'd  better  get  'em  into  the  wagon, 
bag  and  baggage,  and  start  along.  Which 
way  was  you  going?  " 

"  Home,"  said  Colburn,  laconically.  He 
pencilled  a  note  to  the  doctor  at  Huckleville, 
whom  he  happened  to  know,  describing  the 
case  of  Mr.  Jacob  Hunter.  But  when  it  was 
written,  and  the  Wonder  safely  deposited 
upon  the  hay-covered  bottom  of  the  big 
wagon,  with  his  head,  unfortunately,  under 
the  front  seat,  Colburn  felt  singularly  free. 
The  night  before,  in  his  resolve  not  to  desert 
65 


His  Word  of  Honor 

these  people,  he  had  vague  visions  of  watch 
ing  over  them  in  his  mother's  house,  and 
conducting  the  "  case  "  to  a  successful  issue, 
quite  oblivious  of  the  word  of  honor  which 
pledged  him  to  join  Miss  Warburton's 
coaching-party.  And  now  the  Hunters 
were  taken  off  his  hands,  almost  without  his 
volition.  He  stood  waiting,  in  a  sort  of  un 
decided  posture,  after  the  others  had  seated 
themselves  in  the  wagon.  Abel  Kennedy 
gathered  up  the  reins. 

"  Look  here,  Sam,"  he  said ;  "  if  you  are 
going  home,  jump  in.  I'll  take  you  along 
a  piece,  and  show  you  a  short  cut  across  to 
the  county  road.  Hadn't  you  better  go  up 
to  the  house  and  see  Walter,  though  ?  He's 
all  alone." 

Colburn  shook  his  head,  and  climbed  up 
beside  the  Tyrian  Maid.  The  wagon  jolted 
slowly  across  the  clearing,  and  then  out 
upon  the  Pond  road.  Colburn  glanced 
down  at  it  involuntarily.  The  traces  of  last 
night's  rain  had  already  nearly  disappeared 
in  the  sunshine  and  the  wind,  and  the 
horses'  feet  were  musical  upon  the  hard 
ground.  What  a  wonderful  forenoon  for 
66 


His  Word  of  Honor 

driving !  Alas  for  us !  the  evening  and  the 
morning  are  not  always,  as  in  old  time,  the 
one  day;  they  may  be  two  very  different 
days,  and  our  moods  shift  with  the  revolving 
hours.  What  subtle  change  is  it  that  is  ac 
complished  in  us  between  the  midnight  and 
the  dawn?  Colburn's  conscience-stricken 
vigil  seemed  to  have  left  as  its  legacy  a  moral 
lassitude.  Two  or  three  miles  passed.  He 
was  unfamiliar  with  this  part  of  the  road — 
even  ignorant  of  its  direction — but  he  felt 
whither  the  stout  farm-horses  were  bearing 
him.  Furtively  he  glanced  at  his  watch.  It 
was  five  minutes  to  ten.  Just  then  Abel 
Kennedy  pulled  up.  It  seemed  like  fate. 

"  Sam/'  he  said,  "  do  you  see  that  rock 
just  beyond  the  sumacs?  There's  a  path 
there  that'll  take  you  right  down  to  the  Four 
Corners.  It  ain't  three  minutes' walk.  You 
know  your  road,  then,  don't  you  ?  " 

Colburn  nodded.  He  climbed  over  the 
wheel  slowly,  without  speaking.  Then  he 
took  off  his  hat,  and  bade  good-by  to  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Jacob  Hunter,  and  snapped  his 
fingers  noisily  in  the  face  of  the  Kid.  The 
Maid's  bare  arm  slipped  out  of  Mrs. 
67 


His  Word  of  Honor 

Kennedy's  shawl  as  she  shook  hands  with 
him. 

"  And,  doctor,"  she  reminded  him,  "  you 
won't  forget  to  send  the  bill  to  Jake  at 
Huckleville?  If  he  only  had  what  he's 
spent  for  liniment,  he  could  pay  it  now. 
And  say,  doctor,"  she  added,  timidly,  "  when 
you're  married,  would  you  mind  sending 
Jake  and  me  cards,  care  of  the  Consolidated 
Pan-American  Show?  We'd  like  to  see 
'cm  real  well." 

"  Very  gladly,"  said  Colburn,  forcing  a 
laugh.  "  Good-by."  The  wagon  rumbled 
out  of  sight.  With  it  went  something  of 
that  curious  fatalism  that  for  half  an  hour 
had  oppressed  him.  He  was  on  his  own  feet 
now,  and  the  roads  leading  from  the  Four 
Corners  were  open  to  his  choice.  He  strode 
through  the  wet  underbrush  to  the  clump  of 
sumacs,  and,  turning  the  corner  of  a  huge 
rock,  saw  beneath  him  the  guide-post  and 
watering-trough  that  marked  the  trysting- 
place.  Once  more  he  looked  at  his  watch. 
It  was  the  exact  hour.  And  down  the  wind 
came  the  sound  of  wheels,  and  horses'  hoofs 
striking  sharp  upon  worn  seams  of  granite 
68 


His  Word  of  Honor 

in  the  road.  Colburn  leaned  against  the 
rock,  breathing  hard.  But  the  thought  up 
permost  in  his  mind  at  that  supreme  instant 
was  a  most  irrelevant  one.  What  would 
Mrs.  Jake  Hunter  say,  when  she  opened  his 
wedding-cards,  if  she  did  not  find  Juletta's 
name?  She  had  liked  the  name.  What 
would  she  say?  He  shrank,  somehow,  at 
the  thought  of  her  verdict  upon  him.  And 
why,  after  all,  should  the  name  not  be 
Juletta's  ?  He  loved  the  girl ;  he  was  never 
more  conscious  of  loving  her  than  at  this 
crazy  moment  when  he  stood  here  waiting 
for  somebody  else — for  a  woman  who  had 
simply  fascinated  him,  but  whom  he  did  not 
love  at  all.  What  in  the  devil's  name,  then, 
had  brought  him  here?  He  felt  terribly 
helpless  again,  as  if  everything  he  cared 
about  were  being  taken  from  him  while  he 
stood  impotently  by. 

The  wheels  stopped  below  him.  He 
peered  over  the  shrubbery,  and  then,  in  the 
sudden  reaction,  laughed  aloud.  It  was  no 
body  but  'Lige  Porter,  getting  leisurely 
down  from  his  stage  to  uncheck  his  horses 
at  the  trough — nothing  but  the  old  Brattle- 
69 


His  Word  of  Honor 

boro  stage  that  had  passed  his  mother's 
doorway  and  Juletta's  every  Tuesday  and 
Friday  since  he  was  a  boy !  And  nobody 
there  but  old  'Lige  Porter,  who  had  taken 
Juletta  and  himself  to  Brattleboro  to  buy 
Christmas  presents  for  each  other  the  week 
after  they  were  engaged !  In  less  than  half 
an  hour  the  stage  could  leave  him  at 
Juletta's  door.  All  at  once  Colburn  felt 
strangely  secure  and  happy.  It  was  like 
getting  home  again,  after  a  long,  long  so 
journ  at  the  show. 

Thus  it  was  that  when,  a  moment  after 
ward,  there  rang  from  far  up  the  Wilming 
ton  road  the  unmistakable  hoof-beats  of  a 
four-in-hand,  and  Miss  Warburton,  only 
three  minutes  late,  swung  her  new  leaders 
round  the  last  turn  and  down  the  ticklish 
hill  to  the  Four  Corners,  it  came  to  pass  that 
Dr.  Samuel  Colburn  leaned  back  against  his 
rock  with  folded  arms,  staring  into  the 
woods  in  the  direction  of  North  Enderby. 
He  even  heard  her  low  voice  as  she  steadied 
the  excited  horses.  There  was  an  instant's 
silence ;  and  then,  startlingly  clear  in  the 
narrow  valley,  rose  the  notes  of  "  See,  the 
70 


His  Word  of  Honor 

Conquering  Hero  Comes !  "  rendered  with 
painstaking  accuracy  upon  Charlie  McDuf- 
fer's  French  horn.  But  Orson  the  wood- 
knight  stood  motionless.  Again  young 
McDuffer  played  the  tune,  and  again  the 
wind  carried  the  echoes  idly  down  the  val 
ley.  There  was  a  laugh  from  the  Tarraway 
girl.  It  was  followed  by  the  crack  of  a 
whip-lash,  the  sound  of  plunging  horses  and 
rattling  harness,  the  shrill  scraping  of  a 
wheel,  a  confusion  of  voices,  in  which  Col- 
burn  distinguished  the  raucous  tenor  of 
'Lige,  and  a  frightened  scream  from  Miss 
Warburton's  aunt;  then  the  whip  fell  an 
grily  again,  twice,  thrice,  and  the  tally-ho 
whirled  back  up  the  Wilmington  road  at 
full  gallop. 

Dr.  Colburn  scrambled  down  the  ledge, 
and  was  waiting  by  the  roadside  as  'Lige 
came  along. 

"  Hullo,  Sam !  I  heard  you  was  home. 
Git  in." 

Colburn  climbed  on  to  the  front  seat. 

"  Tlk !    Gid-ap !  "     The  horses  stumbled 
into  their  familiar  stiff-kneed  trot.     "  Say, 
did  ye  see  them  city  folks  ?  " 
7* 


His  Word  of  Honor 

"  I've  just  come  out  of  the  woods,"  said 
Colburn. 

"  Hev,  eh  ?  Didn't  know  but  ye  might 
'a'  seen  that  team.  Remember  them  little 
mares  that  Luke  Avery  used  to  drive  in 
Brattleboro  last  winter?  Off  mare  inter 
fered.  Luke  never  did  know  anythin'  about 
shoein'  a  hoss.  Remember  'em?  I  heard 
Luke  say  he'd  sold  the  pair  for  six  hundred 
in  New  York,  but  I  supposed  the  critter  lied. 
Well,  by  Johnny,  I  was  just  waterin'  back 
here  at  the  Corners  when  one  of  these  tally- 
hos  come  lickety-split  down  that  hill,  with 
Luke's  mares  hitched  up  in  front !  I  tell  ye, 
they  look  pretty!  Tails  clipped,  ye  know, 
and  silver  harness.  Shouldn't  'a'  known 
'em  if  I  hadn't  been  lookin'  at  the  hind  legs 
of  that  off  mare.  She's  shod  this  time  by 
someone  that  understands  the  job,  but  she 
ain't  quite  right  yet.  Tlk !  Gid-ap,  Bill !  .  .  . 

"Didn't  see  'em,  eh?  Wish  ye  hed. 
There  wa'n't  nobody  but  a  girl  on  the  box. 
Pretty  slick  driver  she  was,  all  the  same! 
Wore  a  pair  of  them  'ere  ga'ntlets.  Darned 
if  I  know  now,  though,  what  she  was  after. 
She  pulled  up  right  there  by  the  trough,  and 
72 


His  Word  of  Honor 

one  of  them  dudes— ye  call  'em  in  the  city, 
don't  ye? — played  somethin'   on  a  bugle. 
The  girl  kind  o'  looked  all  round,  and  then 
she   says,   'Play   it   again,'   and   the   feller 
played  it.     Then  there  was  a  girl  with  a  red 
parasol  leaned  forward  and  said  somethin', 
and  it  must  'a'  made  this  girl  who  was 
drivin'  pretty  mad — madder'n  blazes !     She 
just  gathered  up  them   lines,   and  h'isted 
Luke's  mares  right  across  the  road — it's 
pretty  narrer  there,  ye  know — and  I  see  she 
was  tryin'  to  turn  round.     I  started  to  back 
off  from  the  trough,  to  give  her  a  little  more 
room  to  cramp,  ye  see,  when  that  dude  with 
the  bugle  hollers  to  me, '  Get  out  o'  the  way, 
can't  ye?'  and  it  kind  o'  riled  me,  and  I 
says,  '  I'm  carryin'  the  United  States  mail, 
by  gosh !     Git  out  o'  the  way  yerself ! '    And 
an  old  lady  on  top  she  hollered,  and  the  nigh 
leader  got  her  leg  over  the  traces,  and  a 
feller  with  a  fancy  suit  jumped  down  from 
behind   somewhere,   lookin'   scared.      But 
the  girl  she  just  laughed.      She  was  mad, 
though,  clear  through.     Wai,  the  feller  got 
the  trace  fixed  in  no  time ;  and  the  girl  says, 
*  No ;  I  tell  ye,  I'm  goin'  back ; '  and  then  the 
73 


His  Word  of  Honor 

dude  crawled  over  on  to  the  box,  and  she 
leaned  down  and  cut  them  horses  like  all 
possessed,  and  I'm  darned  if  she  didn't 
make  the  turn  as  neat  as  y'  ever  see,  and  run 
the  critters  right  back  up  the  hill,  Wilming 
ton  way,  where  they  come  from!  Queer, 
wa'n't  it?  I  must  remember  to  tell  Luke 
about  them  mares.  Tlk  !  Gid-ap,  Bill ! 
Gid-ap!" 

As  the  stage  rattled  into  North  Enderby, 
Juletta  stood  in  the  shadow  of  the  big  apple- 
tree  at  the  end  of  the  garden,  placidly  re- 
twining  her  sweet-pea  tendrils  that  had  been 
loosened  by  the  storm.  Colburn  vaulted 
the  fence  and  came  toward  her.  She  gave  a 
cry  of  pleasure;  but  when  his  arms  were 
around  her,  she  looked  up  into  his  face  with 
a  sort  of  rapturous  fear.  She  had  forgotten 
that  a  man's  arms  were  so  strong.  Their 
lips  met,  and  she  trembled  a  little.  He  had 
never  kissed  her  in  that  way  before.  But 
her  eyes  closed  slowly,  and  she  put  up  her 
lips  again. 


74 


In  the  Rip 


In  the  Rip 

"  \17  E — can't — make  it,"  pronounced  the 
*'  Captain,  oracularly ;  "  no,  sir,  we're 
not  goin'  to  make  it.  Might  as  well  come 
about.  Look  out  for  the  boom,  sir !  "  He 
jammed  down  the  tiller,  and  the  big  cat- 
boat  came  up  into  the  wind,  trembled  a  mo 
ment,  and  then  loafed  away  lazily  on  the 
other  tack. 

There  was  no  help  for  it.  We  were  tide- 
hung,  with  a  falling  wind,  off  the  Race 
Light.  It  was  nearing  sunset,  and  straight 
across  our  course  to  New  London  Harbor 
foamed  the  Rip,  at  that  hour  a  wall  of  plung 
ing  water  curving  from  Plum  Island  to 
Fishers  Island.  The  noise  of  it  was  like  the 
thunder  of  a  dam,  and  yet  on  either  side  of 
that  angry  seam  across  the  Sound  there  were 
curling  "  slicks  "  and  broad,  shiny  spaces 
that  already  began  to  mirror  the  evening 
sky.  But  the  tide  was  running  like  a  race- 
77 


In  the  Rip 

horse,  and  the  trolling-lines  which  I  was 
holding,  in  the  stern  of  the  cat-boat,  were 
swept  now  to  windward,  now  to  leeward, 
and  then  actually  ahead  of  us,  in  a  way  that 
must  have  puzzled  even  the  bluefish. 

The  Captain  flung  up  his  stubbly  chin  and 
studied  the  pennant  quavering  at  the  mast 
head.  The  hotel  on  Fishers  Island  was 
swinging  ominously  around  the  Race  Light. 
We  were  drifting,  but  the  Captain  did  not 
like  to  admit  it. 

"  Come,  Henry,"  he  called,  petulantly, 
"  what  are  you  doin'  ?  " 

The  barefooted  little  rascal  curled  up  by 
the  mast  was  hauling  in  his  line  at  a  tre 
mendous  rate,  and  presently  held  up  the 
squid  with  a  well-feigned  expression  of  as 
tonishment. 

"  Look  at  the  marks  of  that  bluefish's 
teeth  !  "  he  cried.  "  I  thought  I  wasn't  goin' 
to  lose  that  one."  He  pointed  to  some  sus 
picious-looking  scratches  upon  the  strip  of 
bright  metal  above  the  hook. 

"  Henry,"  said  the  Captain,  severely, 
keeping  his  eye  fixed  on  the  receding  light 
house,  "  you've  got  a  pious  mother  and  you 

78 


In  the  Rip 

had  a  pious  father,  and  to  try  to  fool  this 
gentleman  by  scratchin'  that  jig  with  your 
knife  is  dreadful  mean." 

The  abashed  youth  jerked  the  squid  over 
board  sulkily,  but  the  incident  seemed  to  re 
store  the  Captain's  spirits. 

"  We'll  get  in  before  dark,"  he  remarked, 
reassuringly,  "and  you've  got  some  nice 
bluefish  anyhow.  I  guess  I'll  have  to  stand 
off  again  pretty  soon,  but  by-and-by  we'll 
make  it.  There  ain't  any  use  in  stickin'  our 
nose  into  that  Rip.  See  that  feller !  "  he 
cried,  pointing  to  a  three-masted  schooner 
that  was  beating  up  the  channel.  "  He 
thinks  he's  goin'  to  make  it  all  right,  but  I'll 
bet  he'll  learn  better.  Look  at  that !— look 
at  that!" 

The  three-master  came  on  grandly,  a 
quarter  of  a  mile  away  from  us,  but  the  mo 
ment  her  bow  touched  the  crested  ridge  of 
the  Rip,  the  lurking  fingers  of  the  tide  gave 
her  a  savage  twist  that  swung  her  broadside, 
with  sails  flapping ;  and  then  she  came  about, 
helplessly,  and  stood  off.  She  might  as  well 
have  put  her  bow  against  a  tidal  wave  as 
against  the  Rip  when  the  Rip  is  master. 
79 


In  the  Rip 

The  Captain  laughed.  "  He'd  ought  to 
know  more.  That  schooner  is  from  down 
Rockland  way,  I  guess,  and  has  come 
through  here  a  hundred  times  most  likely. 
But  it's  just  like  some  folks  to  put  their  nose 
right  on  the  grindstone  and  hold  it  there,  no 
matter  if  it's  God  Almighty  that's  turnin' 
the  crank.  Some  folks  are  built  so." 

"  Obstinate  ?  "  I  suggested. 

"  Exactly.  Now  that  fellow  might  just 
as  well  have  waited  a  half-hour,  and  stood 
off  there  till  the  tide  turned.  He  ain't  gained 
an  inch  by  stickin'  himself  into  that  Rip,  and 
he's  just  made  himself  ridiculous.  Did  I 
ever  tell  you  about  my  father  and  Seth  Kim- 
ball?" 

"  I  believe  not,"  said  I. 

The  boy  gave  his  line  a  half-hitch  around 
the  cleat  on  the  gunwale  and  swung  his  legs 
over  into  the  cockpit. 

"  Well,"  began  the  Captain,  deliberately, 
pulling  the  cat-boat  a  point  closer  into  the 
fitful  wind,  "  father  was  wilful.  He  was 
about  as  wilful  a  man  as  there  was  in  Ken- 
nebec  County ;  and  when  you  get  a  Maine 
man  that's  really  set,  you  know  somethin's 
80 


In  the  Rip 

got  to  give.  He  won't.  Why,  I've  seen 
father  strike  a  stone,  ploughin'  out  the  north 
pasture,  and  break  a  plough  on  it  rather'n 
go  round ;  and  send  back  to  the  barn  for  an 
other,  and  break  that ;  and  then  borrow  Seth 
Kimball's  plough  and  hitch  on  to  it,  and 
whip  that  team  of  horses  right  up  to  that 
stone  again,  till  the  stone  came!  It  had  to 
come;  and  I  guess  likely  it  realized  it. 
That's  the  kind  of  a  man  he  was. 

"  I  couldn't  go  it.  I  don't  know  as  I'd 
ought  to  say  so,  but  I  couldn't  get  along 
with  father.  Mother  sent  me  to  the  spring 
one  day  for  two  tin  pails  of  water ;  and  the 
stage  for  Augusta  came  along  just  then,  and 
I  filled  those  pails  and  set  'em  down  by  the 
spring,  and  climbed  on  board  that  stage 
and  ran  away.  I  wa'n't  but  fifteen  years 
old,  either.  I  got  down  to  Portland  and 
shipped  on  a  whaler,  and  was  gone  three 
years.  Toward  the  end  of  the  third  year 
the  boatswain  got  inflammatory  rheumatism 
— that  was  up  in  Baffin's  Bay — and  I  took 
his  place.  We  made  a  big  catch  about  that 
time,  and  I  drew  his  boatswain's  prize- 
money  ;  so  I  came  into  Portland  with  eleven 
81 


In  the  Rip 

hundred  and  fifty  dollars  in  my  pocket.  For 
a  boy  of  eighteen,  that  was  doin'  pretty  well. 
It's  more'n  I've  ever  had  since ! 

"  Well,  I  took  it  into  my  head  to  go  home 
to  Kennebec  County  and  see  my  folks,  and 
when  I  got  off  the  stage,  down  by  the  spring, 
what  do  you  think?  There  sat  those  tin 
pails !  Mother  had  had  father  build  a  little 
fence  around  'em  like  a  graveyard,  and 
wouldn't  let  anybody  touch  'em.  There 
they'd  stood,  summer  and  winter,  and  I 
picked  'em  up  and  filled  'em — rusty  as  they 
was — and  carried  'em  into  the  house." 

"  What  did  your  mother  say  ?  "  asked  the 
boy,  in  an  awed  voice. 

"Mother  was  moppin'  the  kitchen  floor, 
and  she  looked  up,  kind  o'  white,  and  says : 
'  I  knew  you'd  come  back,  Abijah.  Don't 
slop  that  water  on  this  clean  floor.'  " 

Henry  looked  at  me  curiously,  and  the 
Captain  went  on : 

" '  What  do  you  think  your  father's 
doin'  ? '  says  she ;  and  then  she  began  to 
cry.  '  He's  gone  to  law  with  Seth  Kimball 
over  that  lane  up  to  the  cow-pasture.  He's 
terrible  set,  and  Mis'  Kimball  ain't  been 
82 


In  the  Rip 

over  to  see  me  since  March,  and  your  father 
and  Seth  don't  either  of  'em  go  to  meetin', 
and  it's  cost  your  father  over  six  hundred 
dollars  already/ 

"  Father  came  in  from  the  barn  just  then, 
and  he  stood  there,  and  I  didn't  know 
whether  he  was  goin'  to  speak  to  me  or  not. 
But  he  set  down  the  mijk  and  shook  hands, 
and  I  thought  he  was  goin'  to  cry,  too ;  and 
says  he : '  Abijah,  I'm  glad  to  see  you.  Can't 
you  remember  what  Seth  Kimball  said  to  us 
about  that  right  of  way,  the  mornin'  we  was 
layin'  that  stone  wall  ?  Didn't  he  say,  "  One 
rod  is  all  I  ever  claimed,  Dan  ?  " 

"  '  That's  what  he  did/  says  I, '  as  near  as 
I  can  remember/ 

"  Father  pounded  on  the  table  like  one 
possessed.  '  Let's  have  some  samp  'n'  milk 
for  supper,'  says  he,  '  and  I'll  hitch  up  and 
drive  down  to  Square  Bainbridge's.  I've 
got  a  new  witness,  and  I'll  beat  Seth  Kim- 
ball  yet/ 

"All  through  supper  he  couldn't  talk 
about  anything  but  that  right  of  way.  It 
wa'n't  nothin'  to  quarrel  over,  either,  you 
might  say — just  a  question  whether  Seth's 

83 


In  the  Rip 

right  of  way  across  the  end  of  our  orchard 
up  to  his  fall  pasture  was  one  rod  or  two 
rods  wide.  There  was  land  enough  there, 
in  all  conscience,  and  it  wa'n't  good  for 
nothin',  anyway.  But  Seth  up  V  claimed 
two  rods,  whereas  father  said  he  had  a  right 
to  only  one.  You  see,  neither  of  'em  had 
any  papers  to  show  for  it ;  it  was  just  an  old 
agreement  runnin'  back  to  Aunt  'Lizy's  time 
— sort  o'  proscription,  the  lawyers  called  it. 
Well,  father  had  always  had  that  rod  fenced 
off,  and  when  the  fence  rotted  out  he  laid  a 
stone  wall  just  on  the  old  line.  But  Seth 
served  notice  on  him,  and,  when  father  didn't 
pay  any  attention  to  it,  Seth's  hired  man 
came  over  and  pulled  the  wall  down.  That 
was  just  after  I  ran  away  from  home. 
Father  was  mad,  clean  through. 

"  '  All  right/  says  he.  '  I'll  lay  that  wall 
once  more,  and  if  Seth  Kimball  touches  it, 
we'll  see  who  owns  that  right  of  way.' 

"  So  he  laid  it  up,  and  that  time  Seth  Kim- 
ball  came  over  and  tore  it  down  himself. 

" '  Well  and  good,'  says  father,  and  he 
drove  down  to  Square  Bainbridge's  and  told 
him  how  things  stood. 
84 


In  the  Rip 

" '  By  the  eternal/  says  Square  Bain- 
bridge,  '  we'll  take  that  before  twelve  men/ 
And  that's  how  they  began  it. 

"  Well,  the  whole  story  was  longer'n  the 
moral  law,  but  the  upshot  of  it  was  that  when 
father  got  through  I  forgot  all  about  the 
way  he  and  I  used  to  quarrel ;  and  says  I : 
'  Go  ahead,  father ;  I'll  back  you.  I've 
brought  home  two  hundred  dollars  with  me, 
and  I've  got  more'n  nine  hundred  in  the 
bank  at  Portland,  and  I  won't  see  my  folks 
beaten  in  a  law-suit,  not  if  /  can  help  it/ 

"  Father,  he  couldn't  say  enough,  and  af 
ter  he'd  hitched  up  and  gone,  mother  let  on 
to  me  that  he'd  had  to  mortgage  the  place  to 
raise  the  six  hundred.  He  felt  kind  o'  bad 
about  it,  because  he'd  just  paid  off  the  old 
mortgage  that  had  been  runnin'  ever  since 
he  was  married.  Mother  had  wanted  him 
to  give  in,  one  time,  and  let  Seth  Kimball 
have  the  two  rods ;  but  when  she  saw  I  was 
goin'  to  turn  my  money  over  to  father,  I 
guess  she  thought  that  Mis'  Kimball  had 
treated  her  sort  o'  mean,  after  all.  And  so 
things  took  a  fresh  start. 

"Well,  I  stayed  around  home  long  enough 
85 


In  the  Rip 

to  help  father  get  in  his  oats,  and  by  that 
time  I  was  crazy  to  be  on  salt  water  again, 
and  shipped  for  Australia;  and  what  with 
one  thing  and  another,  and  lyin'  sick  at  Syd 
ney  six  months  at  one  time,  I  was  gone  five 
years.  When  I  came  home  I  didn't  come 
by  stage,  either.  I  had  to  foot  it  from  Bath, 
and  had  just  two  York  shillings  to  my  name. 
And  where  do  you  think  I  found  the  old 
folks  ?  Well,  sir,  father  was  livin'  down  at 
the  foot  of  the  hill,  in  the  little  red  house 
where  he  was  born.  Our  place  was  gone, 
every  dollar  of  it,  to  the  lawyers,  and  Seth 
Kimball's  money  was  all  used  up,  too,  and 
still  they  couldn't  find  out  who  owned  that 
right  of  way.  There  wa'n't  a  lawyer  in 
Kennebec  County  that  wa'n't  on  one  side  or 
the  other,  and  they  had  appealed  it  to  the 
Superior  Court,  and  it  was  goin'  to  be  de 
cided  the  week  after  I  got  home.  Our  place 
stood  in  father's  name  still,  but  Square 
Bainbridge  was  livin'  there,  rent  free,  and 
claimin'  that  he'd  have  to  foreclose  the  mort 
gage  to  protect  his  own  interests,  though 
he'd  stuck  by  father  all  along. 

"  Father  was  like  a  wild  man,  only  he 
86 


In  the  Rip 

never  said  nothin'.  He  looked  just  as  he 
did  when  he  was  smashin'  plough  after 
plough  over  that  stone;  he  was  bound  to 
have  his  way,  no  matter  what  broke.  He 
hadn't  been  to  church,  and  he  hadn't  mended 
a  fence  or  bought  a  new  piece  of  harness  all 
those  years;  he  had  just  kept  right  on 
ploughin'  up  against  Seth  Kimball,  and  he 
looked  eighty,  though  he  wa'n't  but  sixty- 
five.  Mother  was  discouraged,  and  she  and 
Mis'  Kimball  used  to  kind  o'  make  friends 
with  each  other  again  down  in  the  back  gar 
den  of  the  red  house,  near  Mis'  KimbaH's 
sister's  orchard,  and  agree  to  get  their  hus 
bands  to  give  it  up.  But  Seth  Kimball  was 
sure  he  was  goin'  to  win  in  the  Superior 
Court,  and  as  for  askin'  father  to  give  up, 
you  might  as  well  ask  that  Rip  to  stop  run- 
nin'.  He  couldn't  give  up.  I  guess  we'll 
come  about,  Henry." 

The  boy  gave  the  boom  an  officious  push 
as  it  swung  across  the  cockpit,  and  the  cat- 
boat  lurched  over  and  drew  away  along  the 
wall  of  clamorous  foaming  water.  The 
wind  was  freshening  again. 

"  How  did  it  come  out  ?  "  said  I. 

8? 


In  the  Rip 

"  That's  the  most  curi's  thing  about  it," 
reflected  the  Captain.  "  That's  what  I  was 
comin'  to.  I'd  been  home  about  a  week, 
and  had  got  the  old  red  house  tidied  up  a 
little — 'twas  the  spring  of  the  year — and  one 
forenoon  I  picked  a  mess  of  dandelion 
greens  for  dinner.  They  taste  pretty  good 
to  a  man  right  off  a  whaler.  Well,  father 
and  mother  and  I  had  just  sat  down  to  those 
greens,  that  noon,  when  Square  Bainbridge 
ran  in,  puffin'  pretty  hard.  Father  kind  o' 
looked  up  at  him,  but  he  didn't  say  a  word. 

'  The  stage  has  just  come  in,  Dan/ 
shouts  the  Square,  pretty  excited,  '  and  by 
the  eternal,  we've  beat  him  at  last!  The 
court  handed  down  its  decision  at  five 
o'clock  yesterday  afternoon,  and  we've  got 
judgment  against  him  for  two  hundred  dol 
lars'  damages ! ' 

"  Mother,  she  began  to  cry.  '  But  it's 
cost  us  every  penny  we  had  in  the  world/ 
says  she, '  except  this  old  red  house.' 

"'What's  that  got  to  do  with  it/  says 
father,  good  and  loud, '  as  long  as  we've  got 
our  rights  ?     And  I  want  a  little  more  vine 
gar  on  these  greens/  says  he ;  but  when  he 
88 


In  the  Rip 

reached  for  it  his  hand  was  tremblin*  as  if 
he  had  had  a  stroke. 

" '  Those  greens  do  smell  good/  says 
Square  Bainbridge.  '  We  ain't  had  a  mess 
of  'em  yet,  up  to  our  house/ 

"  When  mother  heard  him  say  'our  house* 
so  natural,  she  began  to  cry  again ;  and 
Square  Bainbridge  saw  that  he  hadn't  ought 
to  have  said  it,  and  went  off  up  the  hill. 

"  The  next  afternoon  we  got  word  that 
Seth  was  comin'  over  to  pay  what  he  owed. 
Father  was  dressed  up,  and  opened  the  par 
lor  blinds,  and  there  we  sat,  with  Seth's  law 
yer  and  Square  Bainbridge,  when  Seth  Kim- 
ball  came  round  the  corner  by  the  store.  He 
was  dressed  up,  too,  and  he  was  drivin'  a  pair 
of  oxen — and  that  was  every  last  head  of 
stock  he  owned.  He  left  the  oxen  standin' 
by  the  hitchin'-post,  and  walked  in,  and  kind 
o'  nodded  to  his  lawyer  and  to  me.  But  he 
and  father  hadn't  spoken  for  pretty  near 
eight  years,  for  all  they'd  been  boys  to 
gether,  and  on  the  parish  committee,  and  all 
that. 

" '  My  client/  says  Seth's  lawyer,  sort  o' 
hesitatin',  '  is  obliged  to  ask  a  favor  of  the 


In  the  Rip 

prosecution.  We  mean  to  pay  this  two  hun 
dred  dollars  and  stop  where  we  be ;  but  we 
want  Mr.  Richards  to  accept  that  yoke  of 
cattle  in  part  payment.  We  had  'em  prized 
this  morning  by  three  men,  and  they  said 
that  they'd  ought  to  be  worth  eighty  dollars.' 

"  '  And  here's  the  one  hundred  and  twenty 
in  money,'  says  Seth,  pullin'  out  his  wallet ; 
and  he  knew,  and  there  wa'n't  a  man  in  the 
room  but  knew,  that  that  was  every  dollar 
Seth  Kimball  could  raise.  He  was  a  proud 
man,  too — full  as  proud  as  father;  but  he 
knew  when  he  was  licked. 

"  Everybody  looked  at  father,  and  he  got 
up  from  where  he  was  sittin'  by  the  centre 
table,  and  his  hand  was  shakin'  so  that  he 
had  to  hold  on  to  the  Family  Bible — it  lay 
right  on  the  edge  of  the  table — and  there  he 
stood,  kind  o'  swallerin',  and  finally  he  says : 
'  Damn  you,  keep  your  money !  I  guess 
I  can  get  along  without  it  better'n  you  can. 
And  I'll  outlive  ye,  too! ' 

"  And  he  sat  down,  and  the  Family  Bible 

was  shakin'  under  his  grip.     Father  was  a 

perfessor,  for  all  he  hadn't  been  to  church 

since  the  lawsuit  began,  and  he'd  never 

90 


In  the  Rip 

sworn  an  oath  before  in  his  life,  not  to  my 
knowledge. 

"  Now,  when  he  said  that  to  Seth  Kim- 
ball,"  went  on  the  Captain,  musingly,  "  he 
must  have  hated  him  like  a  pizen  snake ;  he 
must  have  refused  to  take  his  money  just  to 
make  him  feel  bad.  Leastways,  I  thought 
so  then,  and  sometimes  I  think  so  now.  But 
inaybe  it  wa'n't  that  at  all ;  maybe  it  was  just 
the  old  natural  Adam  in  him  that  was  doin' 
the  talkin',  and  he  might  have  been  sorry  for 
Seth,  right  then  and  there,  only  ashamed  to 
own  it.  Anyhow,  he  sat  there  lookin'  at 
Seth,  and  Seth  at  him,  and  Seth  was  fin- 
gerin'  his  wallet,  and  I  tell  you  both  men 
seemed  pretty  old. 

"  I  don't  know  but  we  might  have  been 
sittin'  there  yet  if  it  hadn't  been  for  Seth's 
lawyer.  He  spoke  up  after  a  while,  and 
says  he,  *  Square  Bainbridge,  it  seems  to  me 
that  my  client  and  yours  can  settle  this  be 
tween  'em  without  us/ 

" '  Perhaps  so,'  says  Square  Bainbridge, 
rather  doubtful;  but  Kimball's  lawyer  got 
up  and  took  his  hat,  and  says,  '  Good-after 
noon,  gentlemen  ; '  and  Square  Bainbridge 
91 


In  the  Rip 

followed  him  outside,  and  they  went  across 
to  the  Square's  office.  That  parlor  was  a 
kind  o'  creepy  place  for  me  to  stay  in,  so  I 
got  up,  too,  pretty  quiet,  and  went  out  by 
the  sittin'-room  door.  Mother  was  out  in 
the  kitchen,  all  hunched  up  on  the  settee, 
and  there  we  sat  and  sat  till  milkm'-time, 
and  still  father  and  Seth  Kimball  stayed  in 
that  front  parlor.  Well,  I  went  and  milked 
the  cow — father  wa'n't  keepin'  but  one  then 
— and  when  I  came  up  from  the  pasture, 
father  was  standin'  at  the  back  door,  lookin' 
at  the  weather.  Seth  Kimball  had  gone. 

'  Coin*  to  be  a  lowery  day  to-morrow, 
ain't  it  ? '  says  he ;  and  his  voice  sounded 
cheerful,  just  as  it  used  to  when  we'd  fin 
ished  hayin'  and  there  wa'n't  a  cock  but  was 
under  cover. 

" '  Looks  like  it,'  says  I ;  and  there  was 
mother,  right  behind  him,  motionin'  to  me 
as  if  father  was  out  of  his  head.  But  he 
wa'n't ;  not  the  least  bit  in  the  world. 

"  '  Do  you  suppose,'  says  he, '  that  it'll  be 

too  dark  after  supper  for  you  to  go  up  to  the 

woods  and  cut  me  a  fish-pole?     The  trout 

ought  to  be  bitin'  first-rate  to-morrow,  and 

92 


In  the  Rip 

Seth  Kimball  and  I  thought  we'd  try  the 
South  Branch.  There  ain't  either  of  us 
that's  been  fishin'  for  ten  years,  and  we  used 
to  try  it  together  every  spring.' 

" '  Are  you  crazy,  Dan  ? '  screamed 
mother.  She  couldn't  hold  in  any  longer. 

"  '  No/  says  he  ; '  I've  come  pretty  near  it, 
but  we'll  let  that  lay.  I'm  just  goin'  to  have 
a  little  fun  once  more,  and  so's  Seth.  We 
ain't  either  of  us  got  any  plantin'  to  do 
to  speak  of,  and  we're  gettin'  to  be  old 
men.  We  might  just  as  well  go  fishin'  as 
not/ 

"And  the  next  day  they  went,  sure 
enough;  and  along  in  the  afternoon  they 
brought  back  a  good  mess  of  trout,  and  di 
vided  'em  on  our  back  stoop,  just  as  they 
used  to  when  they  were  boys.  That  fishin' 
was  town  talk,  I  can  tell  you." 

The  Captain  hauled  on  the  main-sheet 
suddenly,  and  peered  off  under  the  boom  at 
the  lights  that  were  twinkling  in  the  hotel  on 
Fishers  Island.  The  hotel  was  beginning 
to  make  out  from  the  Race  Light,  and  the 
tumult  of  the  Rip  was  lessening,  though  we 
were  almost  upon  it. 

93 


In  the  Rip 

"  Did  your  father  live  longer  than  the 
man  he  went  fishing  with?  "  demanded  the 
boy. 

"  He  caught  his  death  o'  cold  at  Seth 
Kimball's  funeral,"  replied  the  Captain. 
"  The  other  bearers  all  kept  their  hats  on, 
and  he  didn't.  Foolish  custom,  ain't  it? 
I  don't — know — but  we're  goin'  to  make 
it." 

And  even  as  he  spoke,  the  noise  of  the 
churning  tideway  seemed  all  at  once  behind 
us,  and  the  big  cat-boat  heeled  over  joyfully 
on  the  port  tack  for  the  run  home,  with  the 
water  slap-slapping  to  a  new  tune  beneath 
her  bows. 

"  Take  this  tiller  a  minute  while  I  get  at 
my  tobacco,"  said  the  Captain.  "  We're  all 
right  now,  but  you  might  as  well  roll  up 
your  lines.  You  won't  get  any  more  blue- 
fish.  Say,  that  Rip  is  a  queer  thing,  ain't  it  ? 
It  stands  up  there  and  fights  with  'itself,  and 
God  Almighty  can't  make  it  stop  till  it  gets 
ready;  and  then  it  all  softens  down  and 
smooths  out  before  you  know  it.  There 
must  be  somethin'  down  underneath  there 
that  we  don't  understand.  A  little  like  folks, 
94 


In  the  Rip 

I  guess,  after  all.     Ain't  you  goin'  to  light 
up,  yourself?  " 

The  last  foam  of  the  Rip  was  already  far 
astern,  and  in  the  northwest,  against  the 
wooded  shore  and  quiet  evening  sky, 
gleamed  the  New  London  Light. 


95 


By  the  Committee 


By  the  Committee 

town  of  Whiteridge,  N.  H.,  was 
cursed  with  a  benefactress.  She  was 
a  little  old  non-resident  widow  with  gran 
ite  insides,  a  native  of  Whiteridge,  married 
early  to  a  Boston  merchant,  and  now  desir 
ous  of  linking  her  name  perpetually  with 
that  of  her  birthplace.  She  had  presented 
the  township  with  the  Martha  J.  Torring- 
ford  town-hall,  the  village  with  the  Martha 
J.  Torringford  drinking-fountain,  and  the 
Congregational  Church  with  the  Martha  J. 
Torringford  parsonage,  all  upon  conditions 
stated  by  herself.  The  hall  was  fine  to  look 
upon,  but  the  use  of  tobacco  was  forbidden 
in  or  about  the  building,  with  the  result  that 
the  voters  of  Whiteridge  seriously  thought 
of  holding  the  March  meeting,  as  usual,  in 
the  old  hall  above  Alvah  Bayley's  general 
store,  where  the  genial  sawdust  covered  the 
floor  at  town-meeting  time,  and  the  women- 
99 


By  the  Committee 

folks  had  nothing  to  say  about  anything. 
The  drinking-fountain  was  just  too  low  for 
a  horse,  unless  he  were  unchecked — the 
donor  took  this  means  of  combating  the  per 
nicious  check-rein — and  just  too  high  for  a 
dog.  However,  this  was  immaterial,  as  the 
town  had  refused  to  bond  itself  for  a  water 
system,  and  the  dust  of  two  summers  lay 
thick  in  the  great  marble  bowl. 

The  Congregational  parsonage  was  the 
earliest  and  the  most  immediately  useful  of 
the  Widow  Torringford's  gifts,  but  it  was 
far  too  large,  even  for  the  Rev.  Mr.  Chip 
pendale's  family,  and  there  was  no  fund  for 
furnishing  it,  or  for  paying  the  running  ex 
penses.  It  was  a  broad,  low  building,  of 
yellow,  glazed  brick,  with  plate-glass  win 
dows,  and  two  outside  chimneys,  and  a  cast- 
iron  stag  in  the  front  yard.  The  farmers 
from  miles  around  stopped  their  teams  in 
the  middle  of  the  street  to  gaze  at  it.  When 
Mr.  Chippendale  first  entered  the  parsonage 
he  rubbed  his  hands  with  delight  on  observ 
ing  the  big  hot-air  registers.  Born  in  India, 
he  had  been  dreading  the  New  Hampshire 
winters.  It  was  in  September.  The  min- 
100 


By  the  Committee 

ister  and  his  sharp-faced  wife  nailed  their 
"  God-bless-our-home  "  motto  to  the  Lin- 
crusta-Walton  wall  of  the  sitting-room, 
draped  some  pressed  palm-leaves  from  India 
along  the  brocaded  frieze  of  the  dining- 
room,  and  decided  to  leave  the  parlor  unfur 
nished  for  the  present.  Their  happiness 
seemed  complete. 

Early  in  October  Mr.  Chippendale  in 
quired  the  price  of  coal.  Whiteridge  was 
six  miles  up-hill  from  the  railroad,  and  Al- 
vah  Bayley  informed  him  that,  seeing  it  was 
for  the  parsonage,  his  coal  would  be  eight 
dollars  and  a  quarter  a  ton.  The  minister 
ordered  ten  tons,  and  figured  out  the  cost 
thoughtfully  as  he  walked  home.  That  win 
ter  was  singularly  mild,  for  Whiteridge,  but 
before  spring  he  ordered  eight  tons  more. 
Daily,  while  he  shovelled  the  precious  stuff 
with  his  own  hands  into  that  yawning  hot- 
air  furnace,  his  figuring  became  more  inter 
esting.  His  salary  was  thirteen  hundred 
dollars.  The  next  winter  there  was  another 
Chippendale  baby,  and  the  necessity  of  keep 
ing  the  nursery  at  seventy  meant  twenty- 
one  tons  of  coal  ordered  from  Alvah  Bayley 
101 


By  the  Committee 

between  October  and  May.  That  winter 
was  considered  mild,  also,  by  the  weather- 
wise,  but  what  with  the  baby,  and  clothes 
for  the  three  older  children,  and  the  cost  of 
hiring  a  cutter  for  calls  in  the  out-districts, 
and  a  few  necessary  books,  the  spring  found 
an  unpaid  account  of  a  hundred  dollars  upon 
Alvah  Bayley's  ledger.  It  worried  Mr. 
Chippendale,  but  autumn  came,  and  he  had 
not  been  able  to  pay  it  off.  Winter  settled  it 
self  upon  Whiteridge  with  an  iron  grip  early 
in  November,  and  before  January  was  over 
the  furnace  of  the  Martha  J.  Torringford 
parsonage  had  eaten  another  hundred  dol 
lars'  worth  of  coal — at  nine  dollars  a  ton — 
and  there  was  the  rest  of  January,  February, 
March,  and  April  still  to  come. 

Mr.  Chippendale's  blond  hair  grew  gray 
that  winter,  though  Alvira  Bayley,  who  sat 
directly  behind  him  in  the  front  seat  of  the 
choir,  was  the  only  person  besides  Mrs. 
Chippendale  to  notice  it.  Alvira  admired 
Mr.  Chippendale  more  than  any  minister 
she  had  ever  heard,  and  the  far-away  look 
in  his  blue  eyes — as  if  he  were  addressing  a 
very  remote  gallery — thrilled  her  to  a  kind 

IO2 


By  the  Committee 

of  ecstasy.  She  was  sure  that  Mrs.  Chip 
pendale  did  not  quite  appreciate  him.  Once 
she  ventured  timidly  to  address  her  father 
upon  the  subject  of  Mr.  Chippendale's  sal 
ary,  Alvah  Bayley  being  chairman  of  the 
parish  committee,  though  not  a  member  of 
the  church. 

"  Father,"  she  said,  as  Alvah  was  warm 
ing  his  feet  against  the  side  of  the  great 
soapstone  stove  in  the  Bayley  sitting- 
room,  preparatory  to  going  to  bed,  "  don't 
you  suppose  the  parish  would  raise  Mr. 
Chippendale's  salary,  if  you  favored  it  ?  " 

The  store-keeper  snorted  angrily,  and  his 
lower  jaw  closed.  There  was  a  fringe  of 
beard  all  along  the  under  edges  of  it,  like 
sea-weed  clinging  to  a  rock.  "  I  guess  not ! 
We're  paying  two  hundred  more  now  than 
we  ever  paid  before." 

"  But  he's  worth  more  than  any  minister 
we  ever  had,"  retorted  the  daughter.  "  He's 
a  real  saintly  man.  And  I  believe  they  find 
it  hard  work  to  get  along.  His  Sunday  coat 
is  getting  terribly  shiny ;  you  can't  help  but 
see  it  when  you  sit  in  the  choir." 

"  Guess  his  coat's  as  good  as  mine," 
103 


By  the  Committee 

growled  Alvah.  "  It  ain't  any  harder  for 
him  to  get  along  than  for  other  folks;  or 
oughtn't  to  be.  He  ain't  a  saver — that's 
what's  the  matter  with  him — he  ain't  a 
saver." 

"  I  should  like  to  know  how  a  minister 
can  save  anything  in  that  great  big  house," 
persisted  the  girl.  "  They  don't  pretend  to 
use  the  parlor,  as  it  is.  Folks  say  the  fur 
nace  takes  an  awful  sight  of  coal ;  it's  some 
new  kind,  that  you  can't  burn  wood  in.  And 
you  say  we  can't  afford  to  burn  coal." 

She  glanced  toward  the  closed  parlor 
door,  meaningly.  There  was  a  bright,  new 
base-burner  in  there,  and  she  would  have  so 
liked  to  light  it  for  the  nights  when  Orton 
Ranney,  the  cashier  of  the  Whiteridge  bank, 
and  for  years  a  patient  admirer  of  hers, 
came  to  call  upon  her.  But  her  father  would 
not  allow  the  extravagance,  and  Orton  al 
ways  had  to  sit  by  the  soapstone  stove  in  the 
sitting-room,  constrained  and  chafing  in  Al- 
vah's  presence.  Yet  he  had  told  Alvira 
once  that  her  father  was  the  richest  man  in 
town ! 

"And  we  can't," affirmed  the  store-keeper, 
104 


By  the  Committee 

doggedly,  as  he  rose  and  started  for  his  bed 
room.  "  I  hope  we  ain't  going  to  have  that 
parlor  stove  all  over  again  to-night,  Alviry." 

"  No,  father,"  said  the  girl.  But  tears  of 
vexation  started  to  her  eyes. 

Alvah  Bayley  was  reminded  of  this  con 
versation  the  next  day,  when  the  minister 
entered  the  store  and  made  his  way  to  the 
back  corner,  where  Mr.  Bayley  sat  over  his 
day-book.  The  store-keeper  nodded,  not 
appearing  to  notice  Mr.  Chippendale's  half- 
outstretched  hand.  In  fact,  he  disliked 
shaking  hands  with  anybody.  Natives  of 
Whiteridge  understood  his  peculiarities, 
and  his  face  was  not  of  a  kind  to  tempt 
strangers  into  demonstrations  of  regard. 
But  Mr.  Chippendale  felt  a  trifle  discon 
certed. 

"  Cold  enough  for  you  ?  "  inquired  Alvah. 
He  had  put  this  query  to  every  customer  that 
morning,  and  the  minister  felt  that  it  was 
somewhat  depersonalized.  Nevertheless, 
he  answered  with  a  brave  jocoseness  that  he 
could  stand  a  few  more  degrees  of  heat.  The 
store-keeper  gazed  at  him  impassively.  Mr. 
Chippendale  fidgeted.  "  In  fact,"  he  con- 
105 


By  the  Committee 

tinued,  weakening,  "  I  came  in  to  see  about 
some  more  coal." 

"  Humph !  "  muttered  Alvah,  turning  to 
his  ledger.  "  All  out  so  soon,  eh  ?  "  He 
ran  his  pencil  down  a  line  of  figures.  "  Oc 
tober  loth,  twelve  tons.  How  many  more 
will  take  you  through  ?  " 

"  Ten,  I  hope,"  said  Mr.  Chippendale.  He 
had  made  this  calculation  in  the  night 
watches. 

Alvah  wrote  down  the  order.  Then  he 
looked  up  suddenly,  with  a  glance  that 
seemed  to  penetrate  quite  through  the  min 
ister.  He  lowered  his  voice  a  little.  "  You 
ain't  going  to  make  it  go,  are  you  ?  "  he  de 
manded,  brusquely. 

Mr.  Chippendale  divined  his  meaning,  and 
flushed.  But  he  was  talking  to  the  chair 
man  of  the  parish  committee,  and  he  remem 
bered  the  sharp-faced  wife  and  the  babies. 
"  No,"  he  said,  "  on  thirteen  hundred  dol 
lars,  and  obliged  as  I  am  to  live  in  that  expen 
sive  parsonage,I'm  afraid  I  can't  make  it  go." 

Alvah  nodded  grimly.     "  I  thought  so." 

"  I  was  told  when  I  came  here,"  continued 
the  minister,  flushing  more  deeply  still, 
106 


By  the  Committee 

"  that  Mrs.  Torringford  contemplated  set 
ting  apart  a  fund  to  defray  the  necessary  ex 
pense  of  taking  care  of  such  a  large  house. 
If  it  were  not  for  the  heating " 

Alvah  broke  in  savagely.  "  That's  her 
business.  She's  changed  her  mind.  She's 
always  changing  her  mind.  She's  worried 
the  life  out  of  us  over  that  town  hall.  But 
that  ain't  the  point,  Mr.  Chippendale.  The 
point  is,  we're  afraid  you  ain't  a  saver.  We 
can't  have  a  minister  here  who  don't  pay  his 
bills." 

The  blood  went  out  of  Mr.  Chippendale's 
face.  He  turned  up  the  collar  of  his  worn 
ulster.  "  How  much  do  I  owe  you,  Mr. 
Bayley  ?  "  he  inquired,  dryly. 

The  store-keeper  took  a  newly  written 
bill  from  a  pile.  "  $284.30,"  he  answered, 
as  if  quite  unconscious  of  the  wound  he  had 
given  to  the  shabbily  dressed  gentleman  be 
fore  him.  "  That  don't  include  this  last  or 
der  for  coal." 

"  You  may  make  that  order  one  ton  in 
stead  of  ten,"  said  the  minister. 

"  Just  as  you  say,"  replied  Alvah. 
"  That'll  be  $293.30,  then.  Coal  has  come 

up  again." 

107 


By  the  Committee 

Mr.  Chippendale  turned  on  his  heel  and 
went  out.  He  felt  a  trifle  faint,  and  was 
glad,  for  once,  of  the  stinging,  January  wind. 
Of  course,  they  must  leave  Whiteridge ;  that 
was  what  Alvah  Bayley,  as  chairman  of  the 
parish  committee,  had  meant  him  to  under 
stand.  But  how  could  they  go?  And 
whither  could  they  go?  And  what  would 
Mrs.  Chippendale  say? 

He  found  the  thin-faced  wife  crying,  as 
often,  with  the  babies  playing  unconcernedly 
around  her,  but  this  time  the  tears  were  from 
pure  joy.  She  had  opened  her  husband's 
mail ;  and  the  unhoped-for  "  call  "  had  come 
— hinted  at  months  before,  then  given  up, 
just  as  the  Chippendales  had  given  up  so 
many  things,  but  now  indubitably  at  hand — 
a  call  to  a  church  in  southern  California, 
where  the  salary  was  two  thousand  dollars 
and  the  temperature  averaged  68°  Fahren 
heit  every  month  in  the  year!  She  thrust 
the  letter  into  his  hand,  and  caught  it  from 
him  half  read,  to  wave  it  frantically  in  the  air. 
Then  she  pretended  to  kiss  away  every  gray 
hair  he  had.  She  made  the  babies  join 
hands  and  dance  to  a  waltz  which  she 
1 08 


By  the  Committee 

dashed  somehow  out  of  the  wheezy  little 
parsonage  melodeon.  Thereupon,  she  be 
gan  all  over  again,  by  kissing  Mr.  Chippen 
dale,  and  it  is  to  be  said  for  him,  that  by  this 
time  he  was  looking  very  much  less  far  away 
than  usual. 

Before  the  celebration  was  over  Alvah 
Bayley's  hired  man  drove  up  with  the  ton  of 
coal.  "  Twon't  last  long,  in  this  spell  of 
weather,"  he  volunteered,  but  Mr.  Chippen 
dale  answered, "  Long  enough,"  with  a  reck 
lessness  that  surprised  himself.  Before 
night  he  had  placed  his  resignation  in  the 
hands  of  the  chairman  of  the  parish  com 
mittee,  and  he  even  left  the  furnace  drafts 
open  when  he  went  to  bed. 

The  next  morning,  however,  he  began  to 
think  of  the  $293.30.  That  must  be  paid 
before  he  left  Whiteridge.  The  California 
church  had  offered  to  reimburse  him  for  the 
expense  of  moving,  but  he  could  not  take 
that  money  to  pay  Alvah  Bayley,  and  even 
if  he  did  there  would  be  nothing  left  with 
which  to  buy  tickets  for  California.  Again 
and  again  he  took  account  of  the  financial 
standing  of  all  his  relations,  but,  so  far  back 
109 


By  the  Committee 

as  he  could  remember,  there  had  never  been 
a  Chippendale  who  had  at  any  one  time  $300 
to  lend.  He  thought  once,  timorously, 
of  applying  to  Mrs.  Martha  J.  Torring- 
ford,  but  recalled  the  fact  that  she  was  spend 
ing  that  winter  on  the  Nile.  A  week  went 
by.  Alvah  Bayley  issued  the  call  for  a  par 
ish  meeting  to  act  upon  the  minister's  resig 
nation,  and  Mr.  Chippendale  began  work 
upon  his  farewell  sermon,  but  day  and  night, 
in  spite  of  his  happy  prospect  for  the  future, 
he  was  burdened  and  harassed  by  the 
thought  of  that  unpaid  bill. 

He  was  not  alone  in  his  anxiety.  Alvah 
Bayley  ruminated  nightly  over  the  $293.30, 
as  he  sat  warming  his  stockings  against  the 
soapstone  stove  in  his  sitting-room.  Alvira 
wondered  what  ailed  him,  but  the  close- 
fisted  old  store-keeper  was  not  in  the  habit 
of  taking  counsel  with  her,  or  with  anyone. 
No  one  in  Whiteridge  knew  of  Mr.  Chip 
pendale's  debt ;  Alvah  had  spoken  simply  for 
himself  when  he  had  mentioned  the  public 
dissatisfaction  with  a  minister  who  was  not 
a  saver.  Though  the  pastor  had  never  been 
altogether  liked  by  the  out-districts — not 
no 


By  the  Committee 

having  enough  "  natural  how  d'ye  do  "  about 
him,  it  was  thought — the  announcement  of 
his  resignation  was  received  with  genuine 
regret  in  the  village.  The  choir  was  cast 
down,  and  Alvira  Bayley  in  particular  alter 
nated  in  her  feelings,  from  deep  wrath 
against  the  California  church  for  stealing 
away  her  pastor,  to  a  self-sacrificing  joy  that 
he  was  going  to  a  milder  climate  and  a 
greater  income.  She  agitated  herself  by 
schemes  for  a  farewell  oyster-supper  and 
donation-party  for  the  Chippendales,  and 
hesitated  to  propose  it  only  because  she 
feared  her  father's  disapproval.  Yet  her  af 
fection  for  the  departing  minister  grew  with 
every  hour,  and  one  night  she  had  opened 
her  lips  flutteringly,  to  propose  her  plan, 
when  Alvah  brought  all  four  legs  of  his 
chair  down  with  a  thump,  and  stuck  his  feet 
into  his  slippers  with  pleasurable  animation. 
He  had  just  thought  of  a  way  to  get  hold  of 
that  $293.30. 

Alvira  looked  up  inquiringly.  "  What's 
the  matter,  father?" 

"  Nothing,"  said  the  store-keeper.  "  Ex 
cept  that  I  was  just  thinking  about  the  min- 
iii 


By  the  Committee 

ister.  Seems  to  me  'twould  look  better  if 
Whiteridge  folks  gave  him  a  kind  of  send- 
off,  you  know,  just  to  show  that  there  ain't 
any  hard  feelings  on  either  side." 

Alvira's  breath  quickened.  She  bent 
lower  over  the  splasher  she  was  embroider 
ing  for  the  Chippendales'  best  bed-room  set. 
"A  sort  of  donation-party,  father?"  she 
ventured. 

"  No !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  Land  sakes,  no ! 
They  don't  want  a  lot  of  cord-wood  and 
maple  sugar  to  take  with  'em.  What  Mr. 
Chippendale  needs  is  spot  cash." 

"  I  think  so,  too,"  cried  Alvira,  boldly. 

"  The  question  is,"  said  Alvah,  medita 
tively,  running  his  fingers  through  his  fringe 
of  beard,  "  what's  the  quickest  and  best  way 
to  raise  it  ?  Someone  ought  to  start  a  sub 
scription  paper.  Suppose  you  take  the  cut 
ter  and  old  Tom  to-morrow  and  try  the  out- 
districts,  and  I'll  take  the  Street.  We  can 
do  this  a  good  deal  better  ourselves,  Alviry, 
than  to  get  a  lot  more  into  it.  I'll  draw  up 
a  couple  of  subscription  papers  now." 

He  shuffled  over  to  the  desk  in  the  corner 
of  the  sitting-room,  and  for  some  minutes 

112 


By  the  Committee 

Alvira  listened  in  a  tumult  of  pleasure  to  the 
scratching  of  his  pen.  She  even  half  for 
gave  him  for  that  matter  of  the  parlor  base- 
burner.  When  he  handed  one  of  the  papers 
to  her,  she  gave  a  little  cry  of  delight.  Al- 
vah  Bayley's  name  headed  each  list  with  a 
subscription  of  $25. 

"Father!"  she  exclaimed.  "Why, 
father!" 

Alvah  busied  himself  with  putting  a  huge 
rock-maple  log  into  the  soapstone  stove,  to 
last  through  the  night.  He  seemed  to  make 
more  noise  about  it  than  usual. 

"  How  much  money  do  you  think  we  can 
raise  ?  "  asked  his  daughter,  folding  up  the 
splasher,  as  if  it  had  suddenly  become  a 
thing  of  no  value. 

"  Well,"  said  Alvah,  "  that  depends.  But 
I  should  think  we'd  ought  to  raise  close  on 
to  three  hundred  dollars." 

"  My !  "  said  the  girl,  "  wouldn't  that  be 
nice!" 

"  I  guess  it  would !  "  replied  Alvah  Bay- 
ley. 

At  noon  upon  the  second  day  thereafter 
the  canvass  of  the  town  was  completed.  By 
"3 


By  the  Committee 

dint  of  his  position  as  chairman  of  the  parish 
committee,  his  own  generous  subscription, 
and  his  intimate  knowledge  of  the  financial 
status  of  each  member  of  the  congregation, 
the  store-keeper  secured  more  money  in  the 
Street  than  anyone  else  would  have  thought 
possible,  though  it  fell  a  trifle  short  of  his 
own  calculations.  But  the  out-districts 
more  than  made  up  the  deficiency.  Under 
the  spell  of  Alvira's  enthusiasm,  the  "  spot 
cash  "  slipped  out  of  tea-pots  and  secret 
"  high-boy "  drawers  with  magical  readi 
ness,  and  the  donors  gazed  after  the  girl's 
disappearing  cutter  in  stupid  wonder  at  their 
unwonted  affection  for  the  Chippendales. 

Only  one  thing  occurred  to  mar  Alvira's 
unthinking  pleasure  in  her  mission.  At  the 
very  last  house  upon  the  list,  Aunt  'Lindy 
Waters,  gazing  at  her  suspiciously  as  the 
girl  wrote  "  Miss  Belinda  Waters,  fifty 
cents,"  asked  for  a  receipt.  Alvira  wrote 
one,  signing  it  "  By  the  Committee,"  and 
drew  on  her  mittens. 

"  I  s'pose  it's  all  right,"  said  Aunt  'Lindy, 
concessively ;  "  I  didn't  know  but  the  minis 
ter  might  be  owing  your  father  a  little  some 
thing — that  was  all." 

114 


By  the  Committee 

Alvira  colored.  "  That's  a  real  mean 
thing  to  say,  Aunt  'Lindy.  You  can  have 
your  fifty  cents  back  again,  there !  "  But 
Belinda  scornfully  refused. 

All  the  way  home  that  little  arrow  of  the 
spinster  rankled  in  Alvira's  innocent  bosom. 
Shamefully  mean  had  it  been  to  say  it,  and 

yet .  She  hung  her  head.  Was  it 

really  this,  after  all,  that  had  put  the  idea  of 
the  collection  into  her  father's  mind?  If 
it  were,  she  could  never  hold  up  her  face  in 
Whiteridge  any  more.  To  think  of  sitting 
in  the  front  seat  of  the  choir  Sunday  after 
Sunday,  confronting  those  stern,  reproach 
ful  farmer-folk  from  the  out-districts,  whose 
slowly  won  money  she  had  begged  from 
them,  only  to  make  her  father  richer  than 
before ! 

Half  a  dozen  times  during  the  noon-meal 
her  lips  parted  to  ask  Alvah  the  question 
whose  answer  she  dreaded  to  hear,  but  each 
time  her  courage  failed  her.  Alvah  was  in 
high  spirits  over  the  completion  of  their  self- 
appointed  task,  and  after  dinner  father  and 
daughter  sat  down  to  count  the  money.  The 
desk  was  quite  covered  with  the  crumpled 
"5 


By  the  Committee 

bills:  fives  and  twos  and  ones  and  a  great 
deal  of  silver.  Alvira's  fingers  shook  as  she 
sorted  and  counted. 

"  Well,"  announced  the  store-keeper, 
finally,  "it's  $271.74.  I  guess  I  might  as 
well  make  it  seventy-five."  He  took  a  penny 
from  his  pocket,  and  added  it  to  the  pile  be 
fore  him.  "  I  struck  it  pretty  close,  didn't 
I  ?  "  he  added,  reflectively.  "  How  do  the 
subscription  papers  foot  up,  Alviry  ?  " 

"  Three  hundred  and  twenty-one  dollars 
and  seventy-four  cents,"  she  replied.  "  Why, 
there  ought  to  be  fifty  dollars  more." 

He  ran  his  eye  over  the  columns,  and 
handed  them  back  with  a  hard  chuckle. 
"  You've  counted  my  subscription  twice, 
Alviry,  that's  all." 

"  But  it  ought  anyway  to  be  there  once, 
father,"  she  said,  nervously. 

"  It's  going  to  be,"  answered  Alvah,  and 
opening  the  drawer  where  the  receipt  blanks 
were  kept,  took  out  one  and  began  to  fill  in 
the  name  of  Rev.  Enoch  Chippendale  upon 
the  upper  left-hand  corner. 

"  Father,"  demanded  Alvira,  "  does  Mr. 
Chippendale  owe  you  any  money  ?  " 
116 


By  the  Committee 

He  wrote  on  without  heeding  her. 

"  Alvah  Bayley,"  cried  the  girl,  "  how 
much  does  he  owe  you  ?  "  She  seized  his 
right  hand,  making  his  pen  sprawl.  "  It 
isn't  much,  is  it  ?  "  she  added,  plaintively, 
frightened  at  her  own  temerity. 

He  shook  off  her  hand  angrily,  and 
wrote :  "  Received  payment,  Alvah  Bay- 
ley"  "  He  owes  me  that,"  he  said,  dog 
gedly,  pushing  the  receipt  toward  her. 
"  Two  hundred  and  ninety-three  dollars  and 
thirty  cents.  We  make  him  a  present  of  it. 
That  counts  in  my  twenty-five  dollars  and 
leaves  him  three  dollars  and  forty-five  cents 
over,  in  cash.  If  it  wa'n't  for  you  and  me, 
he  couldn't  have  got  a  cent  of  it." 

The  girl's  face  grew  white.  "  But  what 
do  you  suppose  folks'll  say  about  us  ?  "  she 
exclaimed.  "  It  seems  to  me  it  would  kill 
me,  father.  You  can  afford  to  let  him  have 
that  money  just  as  well  as  not.  It  isn't 
right." 

"  You  set  down  and  stop  shaking !  "  thun 
dered  Alvah.  "  There !  Now  you  set  still. 
This  is  my  money,  every  cent  on't,  except 
three  dollars  and  forty-five  cents.  I  could 
117 


By  the  Committee 

have  the  law  on  to  the  minister  to-day  for  it, 
if  I  was  a  mind  to.  Don't  you  say  another 
word.  I'm  going  in  there  now  to  give  him 
this  receipt  and  the  balance  in  cash,  and  he'll 
be  glad  enough  to  get  it,  too.  You  set 
still." 

But  she  leaped  to  her  feet  again,  in  spite 
of  his  command.  For  six  years,  ever  since 
she  was  nineteen,  she  had  kept  house  for  her 
father  and  had  never  dared  to  assert  herself 
against  his  wishes  until  now.  But  her  af 
fection  for  her  pastor,  and  pride  in  the  Bay- 
ley  good  name,  swept  her  out  of  herself. 

"  I  won't  sit  down,  Alvah  Bayley,"  she 
flashed  back,  "  unless  I  want  to !  " 

The  moment  she  had  said  it  she  felt  clear 
headed  and  cool,  for  all  her  white  heat  of 
anger.  He  caught  a  look  in  her  eye  that 
reminded  him  somewhat  uncomfortably  of 
her  mother. 

"  It  may  be  right,  and  it  may  be  wrong," 
she  went  on,  bitterly,  "  but,  whichever  it  is, 
it's  mean.  I  didn't  believe  you  would  do 
such  a  thing,  father.  And  you're  not  going 
to  do  such  a  thing,  either !  " 

"  I  ain't,  am  I  ?  "  shouted  the  store-keeper. 
118 


By  the  Committee 

"  I  guess  we'll  see  about  that  this  very  min 
ute  !  "  He  snatched  three  one  dollar  bills 
from  the  pile  before  him,  and  forty-five 
cents  in  silver.  Then  he  grasped  his  hat,  and 
stamped  out  noisily,  without  looking  at  his 
daughter,  who  stood  motionless  by  the  desk. 
The  Chippendales  lived  only  two  doors 
away,  and  in  a  moment  he  was  standing  on 
the  elaborate  porch  of  the  Martha  J.  Tor- 
ringford  parsonage,  pressing  the  electric 
bell.  An  untidy  maid-of-all-work  ushered 
him  through  the  big,  barren  hall — unheated, 
for  economy's  sake — and  into  the  family 
sitting-room.  There  was  no  one  there  but 
two  of  the  babies,  who  toddled  over  to  show 
the  stranger  their  picture-books,  but  drew 
off  again  upon  a  nearer  view.  The  dining- 
room  door  was  ajar,  and  from  the  appear 
ance  of  the  uncleared  table  the  Chippen 
dales  could  not  have  had  an  elaborate  meal. 
Already  the  store-keeper  wished  the  inter 
view  well  over.  A  door  opened,  and  Mr. 
Chippendale  hurried  in  from  his  farewell 
sermon,  not  having  taken  time  to  change  his 
frayed  study  gown.  His  eyes  looked 
119 


By  the  Committee 

anxious,  and  his  heart  sank  as  he  gazed  upon 
Alvah  Bayley's  immovable  lower  jaw. 

"  Good-afternoon,  Mr.  Bayley,"  he  ex 
claimed,  as  hospitably  as  he  could.  "  I — I 
hope  you  are  enjoying  good  health." 

"  Tol' able,"  replied  the  store-keeper,  ab 
sently.  He  fumbled  in  his  pocket  and 
brought  out  the  receipt.  Mr.  Chippendale 
took  it  for  the  bill,  and  began  to  grow  crim 
son. 

"  The  fact  is,  Mr.  Chippendale,"  said  Al 
vah,  "  folks  up  and  down  the  Street  and  in 
the  out-districts  have  kind  of  wanted  to  give 
you  a  testimonial  before  you  left  town.  The 
committee  in  charge  thought  you  might  be 
feeling  a  little  worried  about  that  bill  with 
me,  and  so  we  arranged  to  make  you  a  pres 
ent  of  this  receipted  bill — and  the  balance  of 
the  subscription  in  cash." 

He  peered  up  at  the  minister's  face  as  he 
held  out  the  receipt.  Mr.  Chippendale's 
lips  were  moving,  but  his  emotion  was  such 
that  no  sound  escaped  them.  Bayley  fum 
bled  in  his  pocket  for  the  pitiful  little  bal 
ance  in  cash,  but  his  courage  failed  him.  His 
nerves  had  been  more  shaken  by  the  scene 

120 


By  the  Committee 

with  Alvira  than  he  had  supposed.  He 
fingered  the  money  a  moment,  and  then 
blurted  out :  "  That  balance,  Mr.  Chippen 
dale — well,  you'll  find  that  deposited  to  your 
credit  at  the  bank.  That'll  do  just  as  well," 
he  added,  mainly  to  himself. 

The  minister  put  out  both  hands  raptur 
ously;  the  revulsion  of  feeling  was  still  so 
strong  that  he  could  not  trust  himself  to 
speak.  But  Alvah  Bayley  made  no  re 
sponse  to  this  mute  demonstration  of  grati 
tude.  He  simply  reached  for  his  hat  and 
got  out  of  the  house  as  best  he  could. 

It  had  been  an  uncomfortable  five  min 
utes  for  him,  but  he  had  put  the  thing 
through.  Some  people  up  and  down  the 
Street  might  call  it  rather  sharp,  perhaps, 
and,  of  course,  Alviry  would  feel  sore  about 
it,  but  it  was  every  man's  duty  to  look  out 
for  himself.  Charity  began  at  home,  every 
time!  He  was  tempted,  nevertheless,  to 
keep  straight  on  to  the  store,  and  to  let  Al 
vira  cool  off  a  little  before  he  faced  her.  But 
he  had  rushed  out  without  his  overcoat,  and 
was  already  shivering.  So  he  turned  in  at 
his  own  gate,  and  went  around  to  the  side- 

121 


By  the  Committee 

door,  as  usual,  and  entered  the  sitting-room. 
He  determined  to  get  the  first  word,  if  there 
was  to  be  any  further  argument,  and  his 
mouth  was  open  to  pronounce  it  when  he 
became  aware  that  the  room  was  empty. 
The  desk  was  swept  bare  of  its  bills  and  sil 
ver,  and  Alvira  was  nowhere  to  be  found. 
"  Alviry !  "  he  screamed.  "  Alviry !  " 
But  there  was  no  answer.  Her  cloak  and 
hat  were  gone  from  the  hook  in  the  hall. 
Had  he  so  angered  her  that  she  had  left  him  ? 
Her  mother  had  threatened  to  do  that  once. 
Fear  and  shame  overmastered  him,  and  he 
ran  out  to  the  barn,  hatless,  to  hitch  up  the 
cutter  and  old  Tom. 


She  had  stood  by  the  desk,  with  her  eyes 
closed,  until  the  door  had  slammed  behind 
him.  Then  she  glanced  desperately  at  the 
money.  It  was  the  minister's,  every  penny 
of  it!  Her  father  and  she  would  be  dis 
graced  forever,  if  people  found  out  what  he 
had  done.  He  had  no  right  to  take  it,  and 
what  was  more,  she  had  collected  fully  half 
of  it  herself!  What  could  she  do  with  it? 

122 


By  the  Committee 

Suddenly  she  thought  of  Orton  Ranney. 
Orton  would  help  her,  if  he  dared,  she  knew. 
And  she  would  make  him  dare ! 

Catching  a  napkin  from  the  table,  she 
swept  into  it  the  silver  and  the  piles  of  bills. 
Then  she  flung  on  her  cloak  and  hat,  and 
hurried  down  to  the  bank.  She  would  have 
run  if  she  had  not  known  that  people  were 
watching  her  from  their  windows.  Orton 
Ranney,  a  mild-eyed,  pink-faced,  bashful  lit 
tle  man  of  forty,  posting  his  books  all  alone 
in  the  tiny  bank  building,  happened  to  catch 
sight  of  her,  as  she  crossed  the  street  toward 
him.  His  bachelor  heart  fluttered  a  little, 
as  usual,  but  he  did  not  dream  of  her  com 
ing  in. 

"  Orton  Ranney,"  she  panted,  as  she  en 
tered,  "  do  you  want  to  help  me  more  than 
anyone  ever  helped  me  yet  ?  "  Her  eyes 
were  flashing  with  excitement. 

The  flattered  cashier  rubbed  his  hands. 
"  I  guess  I  do,  Alvira,"  he  murmured,  gal 
lantly.  "  Come  right  in  here."  He  opened 
the  iron  gate  and  let  her  in  behind  his 
own  desk.  "  What  is  it,  Alvira  ?  "  he  asked, 
astonished  at  his  own  boldness  with  her. 
123 


By  the  Committee 

"  It's  this,"  she  exclaimed,  untying  a  nap 
kin,  and  spreading  out  the  money  on  the 
desk.  "  Father  and  I  have  raised  all  this 
money  for  Mr.  Chippendale.  There's 
pretty  nearly  three  hundred  dollars." 

The  cashier  nodded.  He  had  given  five 
dollars  himself,  all  for  the  sake  of  getting  on 
the  right  side  of  the  girl's  father.  "  Well  ?  " 
he  smiled. 

"  Well,  I  want  Mr.  Chippendale  to  have 
it,"  she  cried,  with  a  bitter  energy  that 
amazed  him.  "  It's  his  by  rights,  but  he 
owes  father  two  hundred  and  ninety-three 
dollars,  and  father  has  gone  over  to  give  him 
a  receipt  for  that,  and  is  going  to  keep  this 
himself.  He  took  out  three  dollars  and 
forty-five  cents  to  give  Mr.  Chippendale, 
and  that  was  every  cent  there  was  left.  I 
helped  count  it." 

The  cashier  whistled  softly. 

"  Don't  you  ever  say  a  word,"  she  com 
manded.  "  Nobody  in  Whiteridge  knows 
that  he  owes  father  anything  like  that.  Now 
I  want  you  to  give  this  money  to  the  minis 
ter  right  away.  Will  you  ?  " 
124 


By  the  Committee 

"  But  what  will  your  father  say,  Alvira?  " 
he  ventured,  cautiously. 

She  turned  on  him.  "  Orton  Ranney,  if 
you  want  to  choose  between  Alvah  Bayley 
and  Alvira  Bayley,  you  can't  choose  any  too 
quick.  I  expect  father'll  be  here  any  min 
ute."  Her  face  was  within  a  foot  of  his  own, 
and  it  would  have  fired  a  less  susceptible 
man  than  her  admirer  into  heroic  rashness. 

"  If  it  comes  to  that,  Alvira,"  he  gasped, 
choking  a  little,  "  why,  I  guess  you  know 
where  to  find  me.  Don't  you,  Alvira  ?  " 

"  Then  what's  the  best  way  to  get  this  to 
the  minister?  "  she  demanded,  inexorably. 

"  You  might  deposit  it  to  his  credit,"  he 
suggested,  trying  to  call  back  his  routed  in 
stinct  for  business.  "  Then  nobody  else 
could  touch  it,  and  he  could  come  and  get  it 
when  he  wanted  to." 

"  Of  course !  "  she  cried.  "  I  don't  know 
why  I  didn't  think  of  that.  I  just  thought 
of  coming  here  to — to  you."  It  was  Al- 
vira's  turn  to  look  embarrassed. 

"  How  much  did  you  say  it  was  ?  "  he 
asked. 

"  Two  hundred  and  seventy-one  dollars 
125 


By  the  Committee 

and  seventy-five  cents,  less  three  dollars  and 
forty-five  cents." 

He  reached  for  a  deposit  blank  and  filled 
it  out.  "  You  sign  it,"  said  he. 

"How?    AlviraBayley?" 

"  Oh,  any  way.  '  By  the  Committee/  I 
guess.  Now  let  me  count  that  cash." 

"  I'll  help  you,"  she  volunteered. 

Side  by  side  they  stood  at  the  desk,  sort 
ing  the  bills  and  putting  the  silver  in  little 
piles.  Never  had  it  taken  the  cashier  so 
long  to  count  that  amount  of  money,  and 
when  the  task  was  completed  he  wondered 
why  he  had  not  been  bright  enough  to  make 
a  mistake,  so  as  to  have  the  delicious  pleas 
ure  of  counting  it  all  over  again.  Reluct 
antly  he  turned  away,  and  posted  the 
$268.30  to  the  minister's  credit.  Mr.  Chip 
pendale's  previous  status  at  the  Whiteridge 
bank  had  been  represented  by  an  overdrawn 
account  of  forty-five  cents,  which  sum  the 
tender-hearted  cashier,  unwilling  to  remind 
the  minister  of  his  insolvency,  had  himself 
placed  to  Mr.  Chippendale's  credit  in  order 
to  balance  the  books. 

He  returned  to  Alvira,  who  still  stood 
126 


By  the  Committee 

leaning  against  the  desk.  Now  that  her 
great  object  was  accomplished,  she  began  to 
be  fearful  again,  and  to  wonder  if  she  had 
not  seemed  too  forward. 

"  Orton,"  she  said,  playing  with  one  of 
his  pens,  "  I  don't  know  what  you'll  think 
of  me,  coming  in  like  this." 

"  Don't  you,  Alvira?"  he  questioned,  in 
his  softest  second-tenor  notes.  For  how 
many  years  had  those  tones  entranced  her, 
as  she  and  Orton  had  stood  up  together  in 
the  choir !  They  seemed  now  to  wrap  them 
selves  about  her  heart.  "  Don't  you  really 
know  what  I  think  of  you  ?  "  His  right 
hand  slipped  off  the  desk,  fell  innocently  to 
his  side,  and  then  began  to  rise  surrepti 
tiously,  tremblingly,  toward  her  waist. 
«  I_I  guess,  Alvira " 

"  Sh  /"said  the  girl. 

The  bank-door  opened.  Alvira  faced 
around  toward  it  with  a  sudden  defiance. 
But  it  was  not  her  father;  it  was  only  the 
Rev.  Enoch  Chippendale. 

His  overcoat  was  unbuttoned,  and  the 
frayed  study  gown  showed  beneath  it.  In 
marked  agitation  he  advanced  to  the 
127 


By  the  Committee 

cashier's  grated  window;  then  he  caught 
sight  of  Alvira  Bayley,  and  took  off  his  hat. 
Her  presence  seemed  to  disconcert  him. 

"  A  most  unexpected  occurrence  has  just 
taken  place,  Mr.  Ranney,"  he  began.  "  A 
most  undeserved  and  yet  a  most  welcome 
generosity  has  been  evinced  toward  us.  If 
I  understood  your  father  aright,  Miss  Alvira 
— and  yet  Mrs.  Chippendale  was  sure  there 
must  be  some  mistake — you  know  Mrs. 
Chippendale  is  not  very  well,  and  is  there 
fore  somewhat  over-inclined  to  be  appre 
hensive — and  to  tell  the  truth  I  was  not  alto 
gether  sure  that  I  understood  your  father 

myself — but "    here    he    hesitated    and 

pulled  out  the  receipt  which  Alvah  Bayley 
had  signed — "  he  conveyed  the  impression 
that  the  good-will  of  the  parish  had  suc 
ceeded  in  liquidating  my  indebtedness  to 
him,  and  that  there  was  a  balance  credited 
to  me  here  besides,  Mr.  Ranney.  That  is 
what  I  scarcely  can  believe.  It  seems  such 
unprecedented " 

"  It's  all  right,"  interrupted  the  cashier, 
blandly. 

"  Yes,  it's  all  right,"  echoed  Alvira. 
128 


By  the  Committee 

"  May — may  I  ask  how  much  it  is,  Mr. 
Ranney  ?  " 

The  cashier  stepped  gravely  over  to  his 
books.  "  Two  hundred  and  sixty-eight  dol 
lars  and  thirty  cents,"  he  replied.  "  Will 
you  have  that  in  cash,  Mr.  Chippendale  ?  " 

The  minister  drew  a  long,  astonished 
breath.  "  Is  it  possible !  "  he  cried.  "  Why, 
yes,  I  think  it  would  please  Mrs.  Chippen 
dale  if  I  were  to  take  it  in  cash."  His  eyes 
were  wet. 

"  Kindly  draw  a  check  for  it,  then,"  sug 
gested  the  cashier,  pushing  a  blank  check 
through  the  window,  and  swiftly  counting 
out  the  bills. 

"  I  believe  you  were  at  the  bottom  of  this, 
Miss  Alvira,"  hazarded  the  minister,  affec 
tionately,  as  he  buttoned  his  study  gown 
carefully  over  his  undreamed-of  wealth. 

"  She  was  on  the  committee,"  said  the 
cashier,  proudly. 

At  that  instant  a  cutter  was  pulled  up  out 
side,  and  the  alarmed  features  of  Alvah  Bay- 
ley  appeared  in  the  doorway.  He  was  ac 
companied  by  the  postmaster,  who  was  cer 
tain  that  he  had  seen  Alvira  enter  the  bank, 
129 


By  the  Committee 

and  was  at  a  loss  to  understand  the  reason 
for  Alvah's  agitated  inquiries  about  her. 
No  sooner  did  Mr.  Chippendale  catch  sight 
of  the  store-keeper,  than  he  made  a  rush 
for  him,  with  beatific  face  and  outstretched 
hands. 

"  You  see,  Mr.  Bayley,"  he  cried,  "  we 
were  so  delighted  that  we  could  scarcely 
wait,  and  so  I  hurried  right  down  here  for 
the  balance." 

"  To  be  sure,"  stammered  the  store 
keeper,  in  confusion.  "  You  got  ahead  of 
me  a  little.  Here  it  is."  He  drew  out  the 
three  dollars  and  forty-five  cents  shame 
facedly,  and  presented  it  to  the  minister.  As 
he  did  so  his  eyes  met  Alvira's ;  the  bronzed 
grating  of  the  cashier's  desk  was  between 
them,  but  the  girl's  look  seemed  to  scorch 
him  ;  she  was  at  that  moment  the  very  image 
of  her  mother,  the  one  person  before  whose 
slowly  roused  intensity  of  passion  his  own 
will-power  had  been  as  tow  to  fire.  For  a 
minute  father  and  daughter  faced  each  other. 
Then  she  saw  his  eyes  quail  and  sink,  and 
she  knew  who  was  master. 

The  Rev.  Mr.  Chippendale  gazed  in  per- 
130 


By  the  Committee 

plexity  at  the  latest  addition  to  his  earthly 
treasures.  "  I  don't  understand  this,"  he 
exclaimed ;  "  Mr.  Ranney  has  already  given 
me  two  hundred  and  sixty-eight  dollars  and 
thirty  cents.  There  must  be  some  mistake." 
"  No,  there  isn't,"  interrupted  the  clear, 
crisp  tones  of  Alvira  Bayley,  as  distinctly  as 
if  she  were  giving  out  the  number  of  a  hymn 
at  prayer-meeting.  "  It's  all  right.  Father 
means  to  make  you  a  present  of  that  re 
ceipted  bill  he  spoke  of,  and  the  committee 
raised  two  hundred  and  seventy-one  dollars 
and  seventy-five  cents  besides.  We  de 
posited  it  all  here  except  three  dollars  and 
forty-five  cents,  that  father  had  in  his 
pocket.  You  mustn't  say  another  word ;  I 
wish  'twas  twice  as  much  as  it  is.  But  don't 
you  think  we've  done  pretty  well,  Mr.  John 
son  ?  " 

The  postmaster  had  been  glancing  stealth 
ily  from  father  to  daughter,  conscious  of 
some  mystery  which  baffled  his  omniscience. 
But  he  betrayed  no  curiosity,  as  he  an 
swered,  with  a  cheerful  alacrity,  "  Strikes  me 
it's  a  pretty  slick  job,  Miss  Alviry,  all 


By  the  Committee 

around.  Credit  to  everybody  concerned. 
It  ain't  going  to  be  a  secret,  is  it  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no !  "  exclaimed  the  girl.  "  I  want 
everyone  to  know  it.  Be  sure  you  get  the 
figures  just  right,  Mr.  Johnson." 

The  minister  was  wringing  Alvah  Bay- 
ley's  nerveless  hand.  "  I  can  never  forget 
your  thoughtfulness,  never !  "  he  murmured. 

"  Are  you  going  home,  father?  "  said  Al- 
vira,  coolly,  while  the  blushing  cashier  held 
the  iron  gate  wide  open  for  her.  "  I  guess 
I'll  go  along  with  you  in  the  cutter.  Mr. 
Chippendale,  tell  Mrs.  Chippendale  I'm 
coming  in  to  see  her  right  away.  Oh,  by 
the  way,  Orton,  we  ought  to  practise  those 
hymns  to-night.  I'll  have  the  coal  fire 
started  in  the  parlor,  so  that  we  can  use  the 
piano.  It'll  be  real  comfortable  in  there; 
will  you  come  ?  " 


132 


Madame  Annalena 


Madame  Annalena 

T  COASTED  down  the  long  hill  into  Slab 
*  City  just  at  sundown,  the  brook  roaring 
at  my  right,  and  the  sudden  coolness  of  the 
valley  bathing  my  face  and  aching  wrists 
like  water.  As  I  dismounted  at  Dakin's — 
post-office,  general  store,  and  tavern  all  in 
one — the  cyclometer  ticked  off  its  fortieth 
mile  since  noon.  Over  Green  Mountain 
roads  that  means  rather  steady  pedalling. 
Dakin  himself,  smooth-shaven  and  loose- 
lipped,  sauntered  out  of  the  L  part,  in  his 
shirt-sleeves,  and  looked  first  at  the  wheel, 
then  at  me. 

"  Pretty  light,"  he  volunteered.  "  There 
was  a  feller  through  here  last  week  on  one 
of  that  make.  Stands  up  all  right,  does 
she?" 

"  First  rate,"  said  I.  "  Can  you  take  care 
of  me  for  the  night?" 

"  I  guess  so.     Seems  to  me  you'd  oughter 


Madame  Annalena 

have  a  brake,  though,"  he  continued,  judi 
cially,  as  I  unstrapped  my  bundle.  "  We 
put  up  a  consid'able  few  wheelmen  here, 
week  in  and  week  out,  and  I  ain't  hardly 
seen  a  brake  all  summer."  He  was  still 
shaking  his  gray,  close-cropped  head,  as  he 
led  me  up-stairs. 

At  supper  I  enjoyed  a  most  amiable  con 
versation  with  Amanda  Dakin,  who  waited 
on  the  table,  and  afterwards  I  stood  in  the 
doorway  a  while,  surveying  Slab  City.  At 
the  right  of  Dakin's  was  a  blacksmith's  shop 
of  rickety  brick;  at  the  left  a  dozen  story- 
and-a-half  white  houses  were  scattered 
along  the  road  before  it  dipped  again  into 
the  forest ;  opposite  lay  a  dam  and  saw-mill, 
and  above  the  dam,  on  the  steep  hillside,  was 
a  square  frame-house,  with  a  Mansard  roof. 
That  was  all,  except  the  encompassing 
mountains,  the  plangent  voice  of  the  brook, 
and  the  darkening  green  of  the  August  sky. 

Dakin  came  out  of  the  L  with  his  coat  on, 
and  seated  himself  communicably  upon  the 
long  steps  before  the  door. 

"  Gettin'  along  toward  mail  time,"  he  re 
marked,  and  at  that  I  joined  him. 
136 


Madame  Annalena 

"  Do  you  handle  much  mail  here?  "  I  in 
quired. 

"  Well,  no.  No  great  sight ;  but  more'n 
you'd  think  for.  There's  a  good  many  folks 
drive  in  here  for  their  mail  two  or  three  times 
a  week,  and  then  there's  most  always  some 
letters  for  Slab  City.  Dunham  " — he  waved 
his  hand  toward  the  saw-mill  and  the  slope 
above  it — "  he  takes  two  daily  papers,  but 
he  don't  scarcely  ever  get  a  letter." 

"  Is  that  Dunham's  place  ? "  I  asked, 
glancing  up  at  the  house  with  the  Mansard 
roof. 

Dakin  nodded.  "  Consid'able  of  a  house, 
ain't  it?" 

The  conversation  flagged.  Presently  the 
blacksmith,  a  handsome  fellow  of  thirty, 
joined  us,  and  then  three  or  four  old  men 
hobbled  up  the  road  from  the  tiny  houses, 
and  greeting  Dakin  noiselessly,  took  their 
accustomed  places  on  the  steps.  The  black 
smith  and  I  exchanged  some  observations 
on  the  state  of  the  roads,  the  distance  to  the 
Junction,  and  the  approaching  end  of  the 
trout  season.  Then  we  relapsed  into 
silence,  and  the  crickets  began  to  chirp  in 
137 


Madame  Annalena 

the  grass  around  the  mill-dam.  It  seemed 
like  fall. 

All  at  once  a  lamp  gleamed  from  an  un 
curtained  window  of  the  square  house  upon 
the  hillside ;  then  another,  in  a  room  appar 
ently  across  the  hall ;  and  a  moment  later  a 
man's  figure,  as  I  thought,  passed  from  one 
chamber-window  to  another,  leaving  a  lamp 
in  each. 

"Jabez  is  lightin'  up,"  piped  one  of  the 
wizened  old  loungers.  "  Time  for  the  mail 
now." 

"  Lightin'  up  for  Annerlener,"  said  Da- 
kin,  jocosely,  glancing  at  me  as  if  he  half  ex 
pected  to  be  questioned. 

"  He's  spiled  a  sight  of  kerosene,  first'n 
last,"  commented  the  octogenarian,  severe 
ly.  "  And  no  one  to  wash  up  them  lamps 
for  him,  either." 

"  Who  is  she  ?  "  I  ventured,  with  a  stran 
ger's  privilege  of  impertinence. 

"Ain't  you  never  heard  of  her?"  de 
manded  Dakin.  "  She's  a  singer — kind  of 
perfessional  opery  singer,  they  say.  I  guess 
she's  about  as  high-priced  as  they  make 
'em,  too.  Down  to  Boston,  a  spell  ago,  they 
138 


Madame  Annalena 

say  she  was  drawin'  her  thousand  dollars  a 
night  right  along,  whether  she  sung  or  not." 

"  You  don't  mean — "  I  exclaimed,  and  at 
that  instant  I  recalled  some  obscure  news 
paper  paragraph — or  was  it  a  gossip  at  the 
club? — about  the  birthplace  of  the  prima 
donna.  "  You  mean  that  Madame  Anna 
lena " 

"  Belonged  right  here  in  Slab  City,"  ex 
claimed  Dakin,  with  ill-concealed  local 
pride.  "  And  does  yet,  I  guess,  'cordin'  to 
law.  That's  her  legal  husband,  puttin' 
them  lamps  in  the  windows  now."  As  he 
spoke  the  solitary  figure  appeared  for  an  in 
stant  at  the  tiny  windows  in  the  Mansard 
roof,  leaving  a  lamp  upon  each  sill.  "  He's 
been  doin'  that  for  nigh  on  to  ten  years, 
regular." 

"  Awful  sight  of  oil,"  repeated  the  octo 
genarian,  "  for  a  man  as  close  as  Jabez." 

I  was  on  my  feet,  I  think,  gesticulating. 
For  Madame  Annalena  is  simply  the  great 
est  soprano  now  alive,  save  Patti.  For 
twenty  years — ever  since  her  debut  in  Lon 
don  as  Marguerite — all  that  the  world  can 
offer  to  a  prima  donna  has  been  hers.  Four 


Madame  Annalena 

times,  at  least,  has  she  announced  her  fare 
well  season,  yet  her  full-orbed  voice  has 
seemed  to  grow  more  glorious  with  every 
year.  She  has  never  lingered  long  in 
America,  and  I  had  fancied,  for  some  reason 
or  other,  that  she  was  Welsh.  And  to  come 
upon  her  traces  here,  in  the  heart  of  the 
Green  Mountains ! 

"  Ever  see  her?  "  demanded  Dakin. 

"Twenty  times!"  I  cried.  "Not  five 
months  ago,  the  last  time."  And  I  felt  as  if 
it  were  not  five  minutes  ago.  She  had  sung 
in  oratorio,  after  the  close  of  the  opera  sea 
son,  and  in  a  hall  crowded  to  the  stairway 
I  had  stood  on  tiptoe  to  watch  her  as  she 
came  in  to  sing  her  first  aria.  The  grim 
conductor  had  smiled  for  once,  as  he  led  her 
past  the  front  of  the  applauding  chorus,  and 
the  first  violin  moved  his  chair  to  make 
room  for  the  long  folds  of  her  ermine  wrap — 
the  gift,  it  was  said,  of  a  Grand  Duke — and 
the  audience  quite  forgot  they  were  listen 
ing  to  the  "  Creation,"  and  stormed  as  they 
always  do  when  Madame  Annalena  comes 
on  in  "  Tannhauser." 

"Well,"  said  Dakin,  deliberately,  "for 
140 


Madame  Annalena 

bosses  and  church-singin'  the  Green  Moun 
tains  claim  to  beat  the  world." 

"  Not  for  hosses,"  put  in  the  blacksmith, 
who  was  not  a  native. 

"  I  want  to  know  the  rest  of  it,"  said  I, 
facing  around  to  Dakin.  "  Where  did  she 
get  her  name  ?  " 

"  Annerlener  ?  Ann  Ellen — see  ?  Ann 
Ellen  Darby  was  her  maiden  name,  and 
now,  by  rights,  it's  Ann  Ellen  Dunham — 
Mis'  Dunham." 

"  Mis'  Jabez  Dunham— that's  right,"  said 
the  octogenarian. 

"  But  how  did  she  ever  come  here,  in  the 
first  place  ?  "  I  demanded.  "  And  how  did 
she  ever  get  to  London,  and  how  in  the 
world  did  she  ever  marry  Dunham  ?  " 

"  Well,  she  got  to  London — or  Boston— - 
in  the  first  place,  because  she  did  marry 
Dunham.  I  guess  that's  the  how  of  it.  She 
went  on  his  money,  and  what's  more,  he  told 
her  to  go.  She  was  raised  up  here  in  the 
Hollow :  one  of  Sam  Darby's  girls — they're 
all  moved  away  now.  And  Ann  was  the 
liveliest  of  'em,  I  tell  you !  She  up'n  mar 
ried  Jabez  all  of  a  sudden,  when  there  was 
141 


Madame  Annalena 

two  other  fellers  payin'  attention  to  her.  I 
dunno  but  there  might  'a  been  some  spite  in 
it,  and  then,  again,  I  dunno  as  there  might. 
Anyhow,  she  up'n  married  him,  for  all  he 
was  a  good  ten  years  older'n  she/' 

"  Jabez  allus  was  old,"  interrupted  the  oc 
togenarian.  "  He  was  born  old.  There 
wa'n't  no  boy  to  him." 

"  Used  to  work  hard  all  day,  and  read 
nights,"  explained  Dakin.  "  Couldn't  hard 
ly  get  him  to  go  to  cattle-show.  Well,  Ann 
Ellen  married  him,  and  they  took  a  trip  to 
Niagry  Falls,  and  put  up  at  the  best  hotel. 
They  hadn't  been  back  more'n  a  week  be 
fore  I  see  Jabez  a  settin'  on  a  log  over  there 
at  the  mill  one  mornin',  and  the  log  was 
clamped  on  the  carriage,  and  Jabez  was 
travellin'  straight  toward  that  six-foot  cir 
cular  saw  and  never  moved.  I  hollered, 
and  run  over,  and  he  got  up,  just  in  the  nick 
of  time.  '  She's  goin'  to  Boston  for  a  while 
to  study  singin','  says  he,  kind  o'  foolish,  for 
I  hadn't  said  nothin'  about  Ann  Ellen.  'And 
I'm  kind  o'  favorin'  it,  Dakin,'  says  he. 
'  She'll  be  more  contented  after  she's  tried  it. 
She's  a  young  thing,  you  know,'  says  he, 
142 


Madame  Annalena 

'  and  after  she's  kind  o'  had  her  fling  in  Bos 
ton  she'll  settle  down  and  like  Slab  City 
first-rate.' " 

"  No,  Mr.  Dakin,"  put  in  the  old  man, 
querulously,  "  that  wa'n't  quite  it.  '  When 
I've  had  my  turn,  Jabez,  I'll  come  back.' 
That's  what  Annerlener  said." 

"  You've  got  it  all  mixed  up,  deacon,"  re 
plied  Dakin,  commiseratingly.  '  That's 
what  Jabez  said  in  here  to  the  store,  the  next 
day.  I'm  talkin'  about  what  he  said  over  to 
the  saw-mill." 

The  octogenarian  grumbled,  but  was 
silenced. 

"  And,  of  course,  she  has  never  come 
back,"  said  I. 

"  Once,"  said  Dakin,  "  sure,  and  maybe 
twice.  For  over-night,  that's  all." 

"  Curious  critters,"  said  the  blacksmith ; 
"ain't  they?" 

I  sat  looking  at  the  flaring  windows  of  the 
solitary  house  on  the  hillside, 

"  The  first  time  she  came  back,"  Dakin 

went  on,  "  she'd  been  gone  well  on  to  three 

years.     Been  livin'  in  Boston,  they  say — I 

guess  that  must  'a  been  before  she  went  to 

143 


Madame  Annalena 

Europe — and  some  say  she  got  good  pay, 
and  some  say  she  didn't.  Anyhow  Orrin 
Waterman  brought  her  up  from  the  Junc 
tion  one  night  on  the  stage — that  was  old 
Orrin,  father  to  this  one — and  left  her  up 
to  Jabez's  house.  The  next  mornin'  he  see 
her  take  the  Boston  train,  down  to  the  Junc 
tion,  but  there  didn't  no  one  bring  her  down. 
She  must  'a  walked  it.  Guess  she  found 
she  couldn't  go  Jabez,  after  all." 

"  And  the  other  time  ?  "  I  asked. 

"Well,"  said  Dakin,  "the  other  time 
wa'n't  more'n  ten  years  ago.  We  didn't 
know  nothin'  about  Annerlener's  bein' 
home,  but  young  Orrin's  boy  was  prowlin' 
round  Jabez's  house  after  pears  one  night, 
and  said  he  saw  a  black-haired  woman,  with 
diamonds  on,  settin'  on  Jabez's  lap." 

"That  boy  of  Orrin's,"  chirped  the 
deacon,  excitedly,  "  he's  dead  now,  but  when 
he  was  alive  he'd  lie  the  bark  off  a  tree. 
Why,  the  minister  at  the  Hollow  wa'n't 
scarcely  willin'  to  preach  his  funeral  sermon ! 
There  can't  nobody  make  me  think  Anner- 
lener'd  come  back  twice,  without  stayin'  a 
spell." 

144 


Madame  Annalena 

"  She  could  come  to  the  Junction  in  one 
of  those  parlor-cars,"  argued  the  black 
smith,  "  and  get  some  feller  to  drive  her  over 
here  and  back  by  the  Hollow  road.  Who'd 
know  anything  about  it  ?  " 

"  The  curi's  thing  is,"  continued  Dakin, 
ignoring  the  blacksmith's  query,  "  that  just 
about  that  time  Jabez  got  this  trick  of  light- 
in'  up  the  house  an  hour  after  the  express  is 
due  down  to  the  Junction.  That  looks  to 
me  as  if  she  had  come  after  all,  and  it  had 
kind  o'  turned  the  cuss's  head,  after  waitin' 
so  long,  so  that  now  he  expects  her  every 
night.  You  notice  how  he'll  be  dressed 
when  he  comes  down  for  his  mail.  Orrin's 
late  to-night,  ain't  he,  Marcus  ?  " 

The  blacksmith  pulled  out  his  watch. 
"  No,"  he  drawled.  "  Guess  that's  Orrin 
now." 

There  was  a  clatter  upon  the  bridge  above 
the  mill-dam,  and  a  Concord  buggy  swung 
up  to  the  rail  in  front  of  Dakin's.  The  big 
black  horse  began  to  gnaw  the  rail  the  in 
stant  the  reins  were  flung  upon  his  back. 
Orrin  Waterman  pulled  the  mail-bag  from 
under  the  seat.  No  one  spoke  to  him  until 


Madame  Annalena 

he  had  pitched  it  on  to  the  steps  for  Dakin 
to  pick  it  up ;  then  the  interchange  of  greet 
ings  grew  active.  The  postmaster  disap 
peared  to  sort  out  the  mail  for  the  Hollow, 
and  Orrin  went  behind  the  counter  and 
helped  himself  to  a  five-cent  cigar.  Then 
he  sat  down  with  us  to  wait. 

"  Jabez  is  well  lighted  up  to-night,"  he  ob 
served  to  the  blacksmith. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  latter,  nodding  toward 
me,  "  we've  been  telling  this  gentleman 
about  Jabez." 

Orrin  Waterman  pulled  away  at  his  cigar. 
"  What  did  you  think  of  that  liniment?  "  he 
inquired. 

"Well,  Orrin,  it  ain't  no  sure  cure  for 
spavin,  but  then,  what  is  ?  " 

"  A  bullet  in  the  head,"  said  Orrin,  gloom 
ily,  whereat  the  deacon  tittered. 

I  wanted  to  hear  more  about  Jabez  Dun 
ham.  "  I  suppose  nobody  ever  says  anything 
to  Dunham  about — about  this  ?  "  I  asked. 

An  oath  that  sounded  almost  solemn  es 
caped  from  under  Orrin's  morose  mustache. 
"  I  guess  not !     Why,  there  was  a  Canuck 
once,  workin'  for  Jabez,  who  gave  him  a  lit- 
146 


Madame  Annalena 

tie  lip  about  it,  just  for  a  joke,  and  Jabez 
grabbed  a  cold-chisel  and  come  at  him  like 

a  cat.  Came  d n  near  killin'  him.  No, 

we  don't  none  of  us  say  nothin*  to  Jabez. 
It's  kind  o'  mean,  you  know,  and  he  ain't 
just  right."  He  lifted  his  cigar  toward  his 
forehead.  "  Sort  of  a  learned  cuss,  too,"  he 
went  on,  "  for  a  man  who  runs  a  saw-mill. 
Takes  a  New  York  and  Boston  paper  right 
along,  and  they  say  he  cuts  out  everything 
he  finds  on  Annerlener." 

"  Sh !  "  said  the  blacksmith. 

A  black-clothed  figure  was  crossing  the 
bridge  and  turning  toward  us. 

"  Good-evening,  Mr.  Dunham,"  chir 
ruped  the  octogenarian.  No  one  else  spoke. 
The  husband  of  Madame  Annalena  stopped 
in  front  of  us,  with  a  quick  glance  at  the  de 
livery  window  of  the  post-office.  He  was  a 
smallish  man  of  fifty  odd,  scrupulously 
dressed,  with  clean-shaven  upper  lip,  long 
grayish  beard,  drooping  mouth,  and  gentle 
blue  eyes  that  shifted  uncannily  in  their 
sockets. 

"  Good-evening,  gentlemen,"  he  said. 
His  voice  was  slightly  husky.  The  intona- 


Madame  Annalena 

tions  were  those  of  a  man  of  refinement,  but 
they  had  that  curious  detachment  which  is 
sometimes  to  be  noticed  in  the  voices  of  the 
insane.  I  was  rather  glad,  for  one,  to  hear 
the  delivery-window  rattle,  and,  as  by  a 
common  instinct,  we  all  rose  and  filed  in 
side. 

"  Much  to-night  ?  "  inquired  the  deacon. 

"  Well,  no,"  said  Dakin,  tossing  the  mail- 
bag  for  the  Hollow  over  the  counter  to  Or- 
rin  Waterman.  •'  I  guess  Mary  Wither- 
bee's  got  another  letter  from  that  Bellows 
Falls  feller.  Likely  feller,  too.  And  Sam's 
got  a  postal  from  that  mower  Jn'  reaper 
drummer  sayin'  he'll  be  round  next  week. 
You  hear  that,  Marcus?  You  want  to  see 
him,  too,  don't  you  ?  Hold  on,  Orrin  ;  throw 
out  Mis'  Bennett's  Sunday-school  paper  as 
you  go  by,  will  you  ?  She  wants  it  to-nighf. 
And  here's  that  fish-hook  for  the  Trow  boy. 
It's  one  cent ;  make  him  pay  you." 

The  black  horse  and  the  Concord  buggy 
disappeared  into  the  dusk. 

"  Here's  your  papers,  Mr.  Dunham,"  said 
the  postmaster. 

"Is  there — perhaps — a  foreign  letter?" 
148 


Madame  Annalena 

inquired  Dunham.    The  blacksmith  nudged 
me,  cautiously. 

"  Not  to-night,  Jabez,"  was  the  kindly 
answer. 

Three  or  four  Slab  City  girls  came  in, 
glanced  at  the  mail  boxes,  then  at  me,  and 
went  out  giggling. 

Jabez  Dunham  unfolded  one  of  his  papers, 
and  his  eye  ran  furtively  over  two  or  three 
columns,  by  the  light  of  the  one  kerosene 
lamp.  The  loungers  pretended  not  to  watch 
him. 

"  I  observe  that  the  St.  Louis  has  made  a 
very  quick  westward  passage,"  he  remarked, 
turning  to  me  with  a  bow. 

"  Yes  ?  "  I  replied.  "  The  St.  Louis  is  a 
good  boat." 

"  She  brought  over  a  large  number  of 
well-known  people,"  he  continued,  letting 
his  eye  traverse  the  column  once  more. 
"  Literary  and  musical  celebrities ;  not  the 
most  distinguished,  perhaps,  but  still  well- 
known  people.  You  are  interested  in  such 
things,  sir?  " 
"  Very  much." 

"  Oh,  you  are?     I  am  glad  to  make  your 
149 


Madame  Annalena 

acquaintance,  sir.  You  anticipate  a  brilliant 
winter  in  New  York  ?  I  notice  there  will  be 
Italian  opera,  and  German  opera  besides." 

"  I  believe  so,"  said  I. 

"  I  should  like  to  see  that  big  opera-house 
since  it  was  renovated.  How  do  you  think," 
he  asked,  tentatively,  almost  confidentially, 
"  it  compares  with  the  one  in  Paris  ?  " 

"  The  exterior,"  said  I,  "  is  not  so  impos 
ing,  but  there  are  some  people  who  prefer  it 
for  other  reasons." 

"  Indeed,"  he  replied.  "  So  I  have  read, 
And  at  Berlin ;  how  is  it  there  ?  Could  you 
tell  me?" 

I  told  him,  and  we  went  on  to  Milan,  while 
the  crowd  watched  us  dispassionately. 

"  I  suppose,"  he  said  at  last,  "  you  have 
been  at  St.  Petersburg?  " 

"  No,"  said  I ;  "  not  at  St.  Petersburg." 

He  looked  disappointed.  "  I  have  never 
seen  a  man  who  has  attended  the  opera  in 
St.  Petersburg.  I  should  like  to,  very  much 
indeed." 

"  Do  you  travel  yourself  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Oh,  no !  "  he  exclaimed,  with  a  sort  of 
fright  in  his  voice.  "  I  went  to  western  New 


Madame  Annalena 

York  once,  when  I  was  a  young  man,  but 
since  then  it  has  been  very  important  that  I 
should  be  here  every  day.  I  have  no  one  to 
leave  my  house  with,  you  see,"  he  added, 
cunningly. 

I  nodded. 

"  I  must  bid  you  good-night,  sir,"  said  he. 
"  It  has  given  me  pleasure  to  make  your  ac 
quaintance.  We  have  common  interests, 
sir.  Do  you  remain  long  in  Slab  City  ?  " 

"  Only  till  morning." 

"  Perhaps  I  may  see  you.  I  should  like 
to  leave  you  my  card.  Good-evening,  gen 
tlemen."  And  he  folded  his  papers,  but 
toned  his  black  coat  carefully,  and  walked 
out. 

"  I  swan !  "  ejaculated  the  blacksmith, 
"  he  was  great  on  language  to-night !  " 

"  '  When  Annerlener  gets  back,'  "  quoted 
one  of  the  loungers  coarsely,  and  I  inferred 
that  the  phrase  had  grown  proverbial  at  Slab 
City. 

"  Half-past  eight,  gents,"  announced  Da- 
kin,  succinctly,  beginning  to  empty  the 
change  from  the  counter  drawers  into  his 
trousers  pockets.  The  loungers  rose  re- 


Madame  Annalena 

luctantly-  As  I  stood  on  the  steps  watch 
ing  them  disappear  into  the  shadows  of  the 
maples,  my  arm  was  clutched  by  the  octo 
genarian  deacon. 

"  Dakin  kind  o'  shut  me  up,"  he  whis 
pered,  eagerly,  "  but  I  know  what  Anner- 
lener  said,  just  as  well  as  he  does.  *  When 
I've  had  my  turn,  Jabez,  I'll  come  back/ 
That's  what  she  said,  and  Dakin  knows  it. 
It  wa'n't  what  Jabez  said ;  she  said  it  herself. 
It  was  a  promise.  And  that's  what  makes  me 
think  she'll  come,  some  day,  when  she  gets 
sick  o'  singin'.  Jabez  could  give  her  a  good 
home.  Just  look  at  that  big  house  up  there, 
and  not  a  soul  in  it  but  Jabez.  She'll  come 
back.  Why,  it  ain't  right  for  her  to  stay 
away  nigh  on  to  twenty-two  years !  Don't 
you  think  a  real  woman,  now,  would  want  to 
come  back  ?  Ann  Ellen  used  to  be  a  likely 
girl — wild  as  a  hawk,  but  fond  of  her  folks, 
and  I  allus  held  to  it  she  was  fond  of  Jabez. 
Little  ashamed  of  the  saw-mill,  most  likely, 
when  she  found  out  how  much  money  she 
was  makin',  but  kind  o'  sneakin'  fond,  just 
the  same.  She  wouldn't  never  have  come 
back  that  once,  if  she  hadn't  been.  And 


Madame  Annalena 

I'm  sayin'  that  when  she  gets  tired  o'  singin' 
— kind  o'  makes  her  farewell  tower,  you 
know — she'll  be  back  here ;  don't  you  think 
so?" 

He  moved  off,  still  shaking  his  cane  em 
phatically,  as  Dakin  locked  the  L  door. 

"  '  When  Annerlener  gets  back/  "  echoed 
an  ironic  repartee  of  one  of  the  loungers,  far 
down  among  the  maple  shadows. 

I  went  up  to  my  room  in  time  to  watch 
the  lamps  extinguished,  one  by  one,  in  the 
big  house  beyond  the  mill-dam,  and  another 
night  settle  down  solemnly  upon  that  lonely 
hollow  in  the  hills.  Would  she  ever  come 
back?  Could  she?  Could  the  Madame 
Annalena  who  had  queened  it  for  so  long, 
the  artist  finished  to  the  finger-tips,  come 
back  to  Slab  City  and  to  Jabez  Dunham,  af 
ter  all?  She  had  come  once,  it  seemed. 
Perhaps  she  had  come  twice.  Would  the 
woman  in  her  be  deeper  than  the  prima 
donna,  at  the  end?  And  I  fell  asleep,  still 
wondering  over  it,  with  two  or  three  of  her 
notes  in  "  Fidelio  "  chiming  in  my  ears  like 
some  great  golden-hearted  bell. 

The  next  morning,  as  I  was  strapping  my 
153 


Madame  Annalena 

bundle  to  the  handle-bar,  preparatory  to 
starting,  Dunham  crossed  over  from  the 
saw-mill.  He  wore  overalls  and  a  flannel 
shirt,  and  there  was  sawdust  caught  in  his 
gray  beard.  His  manner  was  less  excited 
than  it  had  been  the  night  before,  but  in  his 
eyes  there  was  the  unchanged,  unworldly 
light,  the  same  persistent  hallucination. 

"  You  are  the  young  gentleman  I  con 
versed  with  last  evening?  I  am  sorry  you 
are  to  leave  us.  This  is  a  beautiful  section 
of  country.  I  would  like,  sir,  to  give  you 
my  card." 

He  took  one  out  of  the  pocket  of  his  over 
alls.  On  it  was  printed, 

JABEZ  DUNHAM. 

SAWING.      SLABS  AND  SHINGLES. 

TERMS  STRICTLY  CASH. 

"  Possibly  you  understand,"  he  said,  with 
a  cunning  shift  of  his  eyes  into  mine,  "  that 
all  this  " — he  waved  his  hand  deprecatingly 
toward  the  saw-mill — "  is  a  temporary  occu 
pation — only  temporary.  Some  day,  possi 
bly  any  day,  I  expect  to  enjoy  the  pleasures 
of  life.  Meantime,"  he  added,  his  eyes  fall- 


Madame  Annalena 

ing  to  the  ground,  "  I  saw  wood.  Terms 
strictly  cash." 

"  We  are  all  in  that  business  more  or  less," 
said  I. 

He  looked  up  swiftly,  almost  joyously, 
and  nodded. 


155 


The  Incident  of  the 
British  Ambassador 


The  Incident  of  the 
British  Ambassador 

\17  ITH  certain  aspects  of  the  famous  inci 
dent  that  brought  England  and  the 
United  States  to  the  very  verge  of  war  in  the 
closing  year  of  the  nineteenth  century,  the 
public  is  already  familiar.  The  cooler 
heads,  on  both  sides  of  the  Atlantic,  had 
long  perceived  that  a  crisis  was  approaching. 
Our  new  policy  of  territorial  expansion,  the 
attitude  of  the  Administration  toward  Japan, 
the  correspondence  with  Germany  over  her 
interference  with  South  American  repub 
lics,  had  all  tended  to  inflame  international 
jealousies.  The  discovery  of  gold  in 
Alaska  had  aroused  the  old  question  of  the 
Northwest  Boundary,  and  our  irrita 
tion  against  Great  Britain  was  greatly  in 
creased  by  that  unlucky  after-dinner  speech 
of  Lord  Rawlins,  the  British  Ambassador, 


Incident  of  the  British  Ambassador 

on  the  subject  of  seals.  Americans  were 
thoroughly  angered,  and,  though  it  was 
shown  the  next  day  that  his  lordship  had 
been  misreported,  there  were  newspapers 
from  one  end  of  the  country  to  the  other 
that  openly  talked  war.  England  at  first 
refused  to  believe  that  the  United  States 
was  seriously  bent  upon  hostilities,  but  day 
by  day  the  outlook  grew  more  ominous, 
until  at  last  she  was  startled  by  the  intel 
ligence,  cabled  from  New  York  early  one 
October  morning,  that  the  British  Ambas 
sador  had  been  subjected  to  gross  personal 
indignity  during  a  visit  to  one  of  the  fore 
most  American  universities.  What  ensued 
is  well  known,  but  very  few  have  known 
hitherto  the  real  cause  of  that  dangerous 
and  almost  fatal  imbroglio. 

It  began  in  the  office  of  the  New  York 
Orbit.  The  managing  editor,  standing  at 
a  desk  in  his  shirt-sleeves,  and,  dashing 
his  pencil  across  some  verbose  "  copy,"  had 
said,  irritably,  without  looking  up,  "  Did 
you  get  that  story,  Andrews  ?  " 

"  No,"  replied  dejectedly  the  tall  young 
fellow  at  his  elbow.  "  I  went  way  over 
160 


Incident  of  the  British  Ambassador 

there,  but  she  was  another  sort  of  woman 
altogether.  I  judged  that  it  wouldn't  do." 

"  You  judged  it  wouldn't  do !  "  burst  out 
the  "  old  man."  He  was  doing  the  night 
city  editor's  work  for  him,  and  was  out 
of  temper  already.  "  The  Orbit  doesn't 
want  your  judgment;  it  wants  the  news. 
Your  week  is  up  Friday,  Andrews,  and  then 
you  can  walk.  You  came  here  with  a  repu 
tation  as  a  hustler,  and  you're  no  good,  ex 
cept  on  that  football  column.  We  want 
men  who  can  gather  news.  See  ?  " 

"  Suppose  there  isn't  any  ? "  said  An 
drews,  sulkily. 

"  Then,  blank  it,  make  news !  " 

The  editor  snatched  at  a  handful  of  Asso 
ciated  Press  dispatches,  and  forgot  the  new 
reporter  utterly.  The  latter  turned  away 
with  a  rather  pitiable  effort  at  nonchalance, 
and  walked  down  the  room  between  the  long 
rows  of  desks.  The  electric  lights  wavered 
everywhere  before  his  eyes.  He  felt  a  trifle 
sick. 

For  two  years,  ever  since  he  began  to 
serve  as  college  correspondent  for  The 
Orbit,  it  had  been  his  ambition  to  secure  a 
161 


Incident  of  the  British  Ambassador 

position  upon  its  staff.  They  had  liked  the 
stuff  he  sent  them,  and  in  the  football  and 
baseball  seasons  he  had  cleared  enough 
from  The  Orbit  to  pay  all  his  college  ex 
penses.  And  now,  in  the  October  after 
graduation,  to  lose  the  post  he  had  so  long 
desired  simply  because  he  failed  to  furnish  a 
sensation  where  there  was  obviously  no  sen 
sation  at  all !  It  made  him  feel  that  a  liveli 
hood  was  a  terribly  insecure  matter.  To 
think  that  he,  Jerry  Andrews,  a  great 
man  in  his  university  only  four  months 
before,  should  be  dismissed  like  a  scrub 
woman  ! 

He  trudged  uptown  to  his  boarding- 
house,  to  save  car  fare,  and  his  bedtime  pipe 
was  a  gloomy  one.  Thanks  to  superb 
health  and  a  naturally  reckless  temper,  how 
ever,  he  slept  like  a  schoolboy,  and  it  was 
only  after  his  late  breakfast  that  the  gravity 
of  his  situation  forced  itself  upon  him. 
There  were  but  two  days  in  which  to  re 
trieve  himself  with  The  Orbit.  He  re 
ported  at  the  office  an  hour  earlier  than 
usual,  but  there  was  nothing  assigned  to 
him.  He  consulted  a  half-dozen  of  his  fel- 
162 


Incident  of  the  British  Ambassador 

low  reporters,  but,  though  they  swore  sym 
pathetically  at  the  "  old  man,"  they  had  no 
suggestions  as  to  space  work,  which  seemed 
his  only  resource. 

By  two  o'clock  he  felt  that  he  was  losing 
his  nerve.  That  reminded  him  of  the  repu 
tation  for  nerve  which  he  had  enjoyed  as  an 
undergraduate,  and  this,  in  turn,  suggested 
the  scheme  of  running  out  to  the  old  place 
on  the  two-thirty,  taking  a  look  at  the  team, 
and  perhaps  coaching  it  a  little,  and  at  any 
rate  getting  enough  football  gossip  to  make 
a  half-column  for  The  Orbit  the  next  morn 
ing. 

His  spirits  rose  the  instant  he  boarded  the 
train.  The  brakeman  nodded  to  him,  and 
the  conductor  asked  after  his  health. 
Whatever  might  be  his  fate  in  New  York, 
Jerry  Andrews  was  a  hero  still  in  his  old 
haunts,  and  it  thrilled  him  to  recognize  it 
once  more. 

As  the  train  slowed  up  at  the  dear  old  sta 
tion,  he  was  already  upon  the  steps  of  the 
car,  his  cap  on  the  back  of  his  head,  his  eyes 
shining  with  pleasure.  Of  the  four  or  five 
hundred  undergraduates  who,  to  his  sur- 
163 


Incident  of  the  British  Ambassador 

prise,  were  crowded  upon  the  platform,  only 
the  freshmen  failed  to  recognize  him. 

"  D'ye  see  that  man  ?  "  said  a  kindly  dis 
posed  junior  to  one  of  these  last,  as  Andrews 
swung  himself  from  the  steps.  "  That's 
Jerry  Andrews,  of  Ninety-Blank:  the  tall, 
stoop-shouldered  fellow  with  a  Roman  nose. 
Doesn't  look  much  like  an  athlete,  does  he  ? 
He's  the  best  all-round  man  we  ever  had, 
though.  Cool!  why,  he  used  to  go  to  sleep 
on  the  way  up  to  the  big  games !  And,  oh ! 
how  he  can  do  a  song-and-dance,  and  you 
ought  to  see  him  run  a  mass-meeting !  He's 
coming  this  way.  Oh,  hullo,  Jerry !  " 

"  What's  up  ?  "  said  Andrews  to  a  dozen 
admirers  at  once,  while  the  football  captain 
was  shouldering  his  way  toward  him 
through  the  crowd  to  secure  him  for  the 
coaching,  and  the  freshmen  stared. 

"  Don't  you  know  ?  Why;  Lord  Cuthbert 
Rawlins  is  coming  on  the  next  train  to  visit 
Tommy." 

"  The  British  Ambassador?  " 

"  Sure.  Tommy  met  him  at  Newport, 
and  asked  him  to  visit  Ossian,  and  we're 
here  to  see  Tommy  do  the  international  act. 
164 


Incident  of  the  British  Ambassador 

He's  sitting  over  in  his  carriage  now,  rattled 
already.  Oh,  it'll  be  great !  " 

Andrews  grinned.  He  had  given  the 
President  of  the  University  many  an  uncom 
fortable  quarter  of  an  hour,  in  his  day,  and, 
to  tell  the  truth,  Tommy,  assisted  by  an  ad 
miring  faculty,  had  more  than  once  made 
matters  rather  unpleasant  for  Jerry  An 
drews. 

"  And  what  do  you  suppose  the  alumni 
will  say  ?  "  cried  a  shrill,  familiar  voice  near 
him,  in  the  centre  of  a  pushing  mob  of  un 
dergraduates.  It  was  Kilpatrick  Tiernan, 
Ossian's  celebrated  short-stop,  out  of  train 
ing  in  the  autumn  months  and  making  the 
most  of  his  privileges.  "  Oh,  what  will  the 
alumni  say,"  he  pleaded,  waving  his  pipe 
pathetically  around  his  ears,  "  when  they 
learn  that  you  fellows  have  given  the  Ossian 
yell  for  Lord  Cuthbert  Rawlins  ?  "  He  pro 
longed  the  three  final  words  with  masterly 
irony.  "  He  has  publicly  insulted  this  coun 
try,  only  last  week,  and  to  give  him  the  Os 
sian  yell — the  Ossian  yell,  think  of  it ! — is  a 
disgrace  to  every  true-born  American !  " 

"  Right  you  are,  Patsy !  "  cried  a  class- 
165 


Incident  of  the  British  Ambassador 

mate,  encouragingly.  Most  of  the  crowd 
laughed. 

"  Oh,  you  can  laugh,"  put  in  Patsy,  com- 
miseratingly,  "  but  when  the  iron  heel  of 
England  is  once  more  upon  your  necks, 
you'll  wish  you  had  hissed,  as  Fm  going  to  ! 
Patriots,  this  way !  " 

But  the  Washington  train  whistled  at  the 
crossing,  and  Tiernan's  impassioned  appeal 
failed  to  hold  his  audience.  There  was  a 
general  scramble  for  the  front  of  the  plat 
form,  and  in  the  melee  the  short-stop  man 
aged,  to  his  huge  satisfaction,  to  have  some 
one  push  him  violently  against  Tommy,  who 
received  his  profuse  apologies  with  a  suavity 
as  artistic,  in  its  way,  as  Tiernan's  rudeness. 
There  was  a  backward  sway  of  the  strug 
gling  mass  as  the  train  darkened  the  plat 
form. 

"  There  he  is,"  whispered  a  hundred  stu 
dents  at  once,  as  a  stately,  eagle-nosed  gen 
tleman  with  white  side-whiskers  appeared 
at  the  door  of  the  Pullman  car.  At  that  mo 
ment  he  was  the  most  hated  man  in  America, 
partly  because  of  the  arrogant  frankness 
with  which  he  had  apparently  played  his 
166 


Incident  of  the  British  Ambassador 

diplomatic  game  throughout,  partly  because 
of  that  unlucky  misreported  speech  about 
the  seals,  but  largely,  in  reality,  because  cir 
cumstances  had  placed  him  in  a  delicate  po 
sition,  where  he  could  make  no  explanations 
without  betraying  the  fact — which  everyone 
recognizes  now — that  the  game  he  seemed 
to  be  playing  was  not  the  real  one,  and  that 
Germany,  and  not  the  United  States,  was 
the  object  of  England's  inexplicable  moves 
upon  the  international  chess-board.  He 
gazed  at  the  crowd  quietly,  but  with  some 
amused  curiosity  upon  his  face.  It  was  his 
first  sight  of  American  undergraduates. 

"  By  Jupiter,  Jerry,"  whispered  the  foot 
ball  captain  to  Andrews,  "  he  looks  enough 
like  you  to  be  your  father." 

"  Thank  you  for  nothing,"  said  Andrews, 
and  at  the  same  moment  he  reached  across 
the  shoulders  of  three  or  four  men  and 
tapped  the  regular  college  correspondent  of 
The  Orbit. 

"  I'm  down  as  a  '  special/  Richmond,"  he 

said,  with  a  smile  that  would  have  persuaded 

more  obstinate  fellows  than  the  junior  he 

was  addressing ;  "  I  want  you  to  let  me  have 

167 


Incident  of  the  British  Ambassador 

this."  His  voice  was  drowned  by  the  col 
lege  yell,  which  some  irresponsible  fellow 
proposed,  in  defiance  of  Patsy  Tiernan,  and 
which  the  Ossian  boys  made  it  a  point  of 
honor  to  give  well,  whoever  started  it.  But 
as  a  whole  the  crowd  was  ready  for  mischief, 
and  a  few  men  were  crying  "  Seals !  Seals !  " 
as  the  President  of  the  University  made  his 
way  to  the  steps  of  the  car.  He  was  terribly 
anxious  at  bottom  for  the  conduct  of  his 
boys,  knowing  their  capacity  for  spontane 
ous  deviltry,  and  the  sudden  unpopularity 
of  Lord  Cuthbert  Rawlins,  but  he  wore  his 
jauntiest  manner  on  the  surface,  and  the 
elaborateness  of  his  greeting  to  his  guest 
caught  the  mercurial  fancy  of  the  crowd. 

"  Give  'em  the  long  yell,"  screamed  some 
one,  and  the  favorite  long  yell  was  given,  on 
general  principles.  Tommy  smiled  with 
gratitude  as  he  escorted  the  Ambassador 
down  the  shifting  lane  of  undergraduates  to 
his  carriage. 

"  Speech  !    Speech !  "  shouted  a  hundred 

voices,  but  the  President  shook  his  head 

ceremoniously,  and  pretended  not  to  hear 

the  cries  of  "  Seals !  Seals !  "  "  Burn  him  in 

1 68 


Incident  of  the  British  Ambassador 

effigy ! "  which  Kilpatrick  Tiernan  was 
hoarsely  raising  in  the  rear  of  the  crowd,  to 
the  joy  of  the  hackmen  and  the  dismay  of 
the  more  seriously  inclined.  The  carriage 
door  closed  sharply,  and  the  "  international 
act  "  was  apparently  over. 

"  That's  good  for  a  column,"  thought  An 
drews  to  himself,  as  the  football  captain 
marched  him  off  to  the  field,  following  the 
drifting  crowd.  "  And  I  wonder  if  the  '  old 
man '  wouldn't  like  me  to  try  for  an  inter 
view  with  Lord  Cuthbert  Rawlins  ?  Even  a 
fake  interview  might  be  better  than  noth 
ing." 

But  his  reportorial  duties  were  forgotten 
the  instant  he  reached  the  field  and  donned  a 
sweater.  For  a  long  happy  hour  he  coached 
the  new  half-back  in  particular  and  the  rest 
of  the  team  in  general,  while  about  half  the 
university  crowded  over  the  side  lines  and 
called  it  the  snappiest  practice  of  the  year. 
Then  he  got  his  bath,  and  a  rub-down  from 
the  affectionate  hands  of  his  old  trainer,  and 
it  was  nearly  six  when  he  reached  the 
campus  again.  He  had  declined  the  train 
ing-table  dinner  and  a  half-dozen  other  invi- 
169 


Incident  of  the  British  Ambassador 

tations,  in  the  hope  of  catching  the  British 
Ambassador  at  Tommy's,  for  the  moment 
the  excitement  of  coaching  was  over  his 
uneasiness  at  his  status  with  The  Orbit 
came  back  again.  One  lucky  stroke  might 
make  his  fortune  with  the  "  old  man  "  yet. 

As  he  cut  across  the  lawn  toward  the 
President's  house  the  older  members  of  the 
faculty,  frock-coated  and  gloved,  were  com 
ing  away  in  solemn,  awkward  couples.  That 
meant  a  reception,  and  it  was  probably  just 
over.  Lester,  Tommy's  man-of-all-work, 
was  on  duty  at  the  door.  Many  a  quarter 
of  a  dollar  had  he  taken  from  Jerry  Andrews, 
in  return  for  items  of  interest  to  the  readers 
of  The  Orbit,  but  he  shook  his  head  with 
great  importance  when  Jerry  asked  if  there 
was  any  chance  of  getting  Lord  Cuthbert 
Rawlins's  ear  for  a  moment. 

"  Senator  Martin  is  going  to  entertain  his 
lordship  at  Belmartin,  at  dinner,"  Lester 
volunteered,  nodding  toward  a  United 
States  senator  who  was  pacing  the  great 
hallway.  "  They'll  be  driving  over  right 
away." 

It  was  a  dozen  miles  to  the  Senator's 
170 


Incident  of  the  British  Ambassador 

famous  stock-farm,  and  his  dinners  were 
even  more  celebrated  than  his  brood  mares. 

"  Then  Lord  Cuthbert  Rawlins  won't  be 
back  till  late,  I  suppose,"  hazarded  Andrews. 

"  No,  sir." 

Now,  if  Andrews  had  been  a  little  longer 
in  the  profession,  he  would  have  bagged 
the  Ambassador  then  and  there,  and  a  sen 
ator  into  the  bargain ;  but  as  it  was  he  suf 
fered  Lester  to  close  the  door  behind  him, 
and  he  was  half-way  across  the  campus  be 
fore  he  realized  his  mistake.  He  hesitated 
and  turned  back,  but  at  that  instant  the  Sen 
ator's  carriage  drove  up  to  Tommy's  door 
and  Lord  Cuthbert  Rawlins  entered  it.  He 
had  lost  his  chance. 

Ruefully  he  turned  toward  the  telegraph 
office,  to  send  his  story  of  the  Ambassador's 
arrival  at  the  Ossian  station  that  afternoon. 
It  was  something,  of  course,  but  the  situa 
tion  had  promised  something  better  yet,  if 
he  had  not  been  so  stupid.  He  stopped 
suddenly,  his  hands  deep  in  his  trousers 
pockets,  his  eyes  glued  to  the  ground,  a 
queer  look  upon  his  face.  Was  it  a  chance 
remark  made  to  him  at  the  station,  or  the 
171 


Incident  of  the  British  Ambassador 

subtle  influence  of  the  old  campus — the 
campus  where  he  had  a  crowd  of  worship 
pers,  where  he  was  safe,  as  in  a  sort  of  Al- 
satia,  from  outside  interference,  and  where, 
as  a  graduate  now,  he  was  beyond  the  juris 
diction  of  the  faculty  ?  Was  it  a  journalistic 
instinct,  or  simply  the  real  devil-may-care 
Jerry  Andrews-ism  flashing  out  once  more  ? 
At  any  rate,  if  the  arch-imp  himself  had 
prompted  the  scheme,  no  finer  instrument 
for  its  accomplishment  could  have  been  de 
vised  than  Kilpatrick  Tiernan,  who  with  a 
couple  of  satellites  was  leisurely  crossing 
the  campus  on  his  way  to  dinner  when  he 
caught  sight  of  his  old  crony,  Jerry  An 
drews,  standing  there  with  his  hands  in  his 
pockets  and  that  peculiar  inventive  smile 
upon  his  handsome  face. 

It  was  rumored  upon  the  campus,  directly 
after  dinner,  that  the  undergraduate  body 
was  to  serenade  Lord  Cuthbert  Rawlins  at 
the  President's  at  eight  o'clock.  Some  men 
even  reported  that  Tommy  had  specially  re 
quested  that  tribute  to  his  guest,  though  this 
was  doubted  by  the  more  astute,  who  knew 
Tommy's  general  aversion  to  student  mobs, 
172 


Incident  of  the  British  Ambassador 

even  though  they  did  not  know  that  he  had 
actually  accepted  Senator  Martin's  invita 
tion  on  purpose  to  avoid  this  particular  one. 
Debate  ran  high  until  Kilpatrick  Tiernan  of 
fered  to  ascertain  Tommy's  wishes  in  per 
son;  and,  leaving  his  unruly  escort  at  the 
gate,  he  decorously  rang  the  President's 
bell.  His  followers  could  not  hear  his  con 
versation  with  Lester,  but  this  was  his  re 
port,  delivered  from  the  top  of  the  gate  post : 

"  Fellows,  Lord  Cuthbert  Rawlins  is  din 
ing  now  and  Tommy  doesn't  wish  him  dis 
turbed."  (Groans.)  "  But  he  understands 
that  there  is  to  be  a  bonfire  on  the  campus 
to-night,  to  celebrate  Saturday's  game,  and 
he  will  bring  his  guest  over,  to  show  him  a 
characteristic  Ossian  scene."  (Rapturous 
applause.)  "  Now  everyone  give  a  long 
yell  for  the  characteristic  scene !  " 

But  before  the  cheer  had  subsided,  Tier- 
nan  himself,  to  the  amazement  of  most  of  his 
friends,  had  managed  to  escape  from  view. 
He  did  not  reappear  for  half  an  hour.  By 
that  time  the  bonfire,  prepared  the  preced 
ing  Saturday,  but  postponed  because  of  rain, 
was  blazing  merrily,  and  nearly  a  thousand 
173 


Incident  of  the  British  Ambassador 

undergraduates  were  singing,  cheering,  and 
skylarking  around  it.  The  pet  soloist  of 
the  glee  club  gave  his  newest  song,  the  foot 
ball  captain  made  a  speech,  followed  by  the 
manager  and  the  bow-legged  guard  who  had 
made  the  touch-down ;  one  or  two  alumni 
who  happened  to  be  in  town  exhorted  the 
undergraduates  to  uphold  the  ancient  tradi 
tions  of  Ossian ;  and  there  were  calls  from 
every  side  for  "  Andrews,  Ninety-Blank !  " 
But  Andrews,  Ninety-Blank,  the  genius  of 
so  many  scenes  like  this,  could  not  be  dis 
covered,  and  after  another  song,  a  group  of 
seniors  demanded  in  concert : 

"  We  -  want  -  Patsy  -  Ticrnan!  We-want- 
Patsy-Tiernan!" 

The  crowd  clapped,  and  Tiernan,  who  had 
just  made  his  way  into  the  circle,  took  off  his 
cap  and  faced  the  firelight.  He  was  the  idol 
of  the  baser  sort,  and  the  spoiled  child  of  the 
others. 

"Fellows,"  he  began  impressively,  "Lord- 
Cuthbert-Rawlins  has  said  " — he  paused  in 
the  long  upward  drawl  for  mock  emphasis — 
"  I  repeat,  Lord-Cuthbert-Rawlins  has 
said  " — and  he  quoted  the  most  unfortunate 
174 


Incident  of  the  British  Ambassador 

of  those  sentences  that  the  reporters  had  put 
into  his  lordship's  mouth  a  week  before. 

A  growl,  topped  by  hisses,  ran  around  the 
loop  of  firelit  faces.  The  orator  raised  his 
hand  majestically.  "  I  would  not  for  the 
world  arouse  your  righteous  wrath."  A 
chorus  of  whistles  and  approving  howls 
greeted  this  pious  declaration.  "  No,  not 
for  both  worlds ! "  Patsy  added,  in  a  deep 
pathos  that  convulsed  his  intimates  and 
thrilled  the  under-classmen.  "  But  Lord- 
Cuthbert-Rawlins  conies  to-night  to  visit  us 
upon  this  historic  ground."  (Cheers.)  "  I 
would  suggest  no  indecorum  "  (this  with  a 
long,  leering  pause) ;  "  but  shall  his  slur 
upon  America's  fair  name  go  unchallenged 
here  ?  What  say  you,  sons  of  old  Ossian  ?  " 

There  was  a  smashing  chorus  of  big- 
lunged  exclamations,  and  some  sophomores 
craftily  tossed  a  couple  of  cannon-crackers 
into  the  freshman  segment  of  the  great  cir 
cle. 

"  Silence !  "  shrieked  Tiernan.     "  Silence, 
Americans !     Shall  a  British  envoy  stand 
upon  our  campus  and  repeat  his  insults  to 
our  face  ?    I  pause  for  a  reply." 
175 


Incident  of  the  British  Ambassador 

He  scanned  the  outskirts  of  the  audience, 
as  if  in  reality  awaiting  a  response.  At  that 
moment,  from  the  rear  of  the  crowd,  came 
a  shrill  cat-call.  The  orator  rose  to  his  full 
est  height,  and  whirled  around  with  out 
stretched  finger  and  gleaming  eyes.  "  Fel 
lows  !  "  he  hissed  melodramatically,  "  there 
is  Lord-Cuthbert-Rawlins  now!" 

On  the  steps  of  the  dormitory  nearest  the 
President's  house  stood  a  tall,  Roman- 
nosed,  white-side-whiskered  personage  in 
evening  dress,  blinking  benignantly  at  the 
scene  before  him.  He  must  have  heard 
every  word  of  Tiernan's  speech,  but  he 
smiled  down  in  superior  fashion  at  the  crowd 
that  swept  toward  him  so  tumultuously.  A 
few  hisses  were  mingled  with  the  applause 
that  greeted  him,  but  there  were  many  in  the 
throng  who  evidently  felt  that  Tiernan  had 
gone  too  far  and  were  desirous  of  maintain 
ing  Ossian's  reputation  for  impartial  hos 
pitality.  But  friends  and  foes  united  in  a 
trampling  chorus  of  "  Speech!  Speech! 
We  want  a  speech!" 

The  British  Ambassador  drew  a  monocle 
from  his  waistcoat  pocket,  adjusted  it  lei- 
176 


Incident  of  the  British  Ambassador 

surely,  hemmed  two  or  three  times,  and  then, 
in  an  odd,  falsetto  voice  that  sharpened 
every  word  and  sent  it  uncomfortably  home, 
delivered  himself  of  a  most  singular  speech 
indeed.  It  was  an  explanation,  he  declared, 
of  the  misapprehensions  under  which  his 
young  friend  who  had  just  addressed  this 
audience  was  evidently  laboring,  and  he  pro 
ceeded  to  tell  what  he  had  really  meant  to 
say  at  that  historic  dinner  the  week  before. 
But  his  explanation  made  matters  infinitely 
worse ;  at  every  turn  he  let  slip  phrases  that 
betrayed  his  contempt  for  the  United  States ; 
it  would  have  been  absurd,  if  it  had  not  been 
so  outrageous,  to  listen  to  those  supercilious 
sentences,  delivered  in  a  style  that  out- 
heroded  even  the  check-suited  Englishman 
of  the  variety  stage.  At  first  the  crowd  had 
been  decorous  enough,  but  from  moment  to 
moment  it  was  obviously  escaping  from  the 
control  of  the  sober-minded,  and  soon  it  be 
came  openly  derisive.  The  Ambassador 
now  seemed  to  lose  his  temper  likewise,  and 
his  maladroit  compliments  turned  into  thin 
ly  disguised  vituperation.  His  audience  be 
came  a  surging  mob.  In  vain  did  Lord 
177 


Incident  of  the  British  Ambassador 

Cuthbert  Rawlins  wave  his  angular  arms, 
or  strike  attitudes  of  defiant,  monocled  pa 
tience. 

When  Patsy  Tiernan  yelled  "  Down  with 
him !  "  the  spark  touched  the  powder.  A 
dozen  hot-heads  actually  rushed  the  steps 
and  laid  hands  upon  Her  Majesty's  accred 
ited  representative. 

Then  came  the  worst  of  all.  "  The  rail ! 
The  rail!  Where's  the  Lincoln  rail?" 
shouted  Tiernan,  as  if  beside  himself  with 
fury.  Forth  from  its  resting-place  in  one  of 
the  dormitories  was  dragged  that  precious 
relic  of  the  1860  Presidential  campaign :  a 
fence-rail  reputed  to  have  been  split  by  the 
hands  of  the  martyr  President. 

"  Put  him  on  a  sealskin !  "  yelled  some 
one. 

"  Oh,  ride  him  on  a  sealskin,  sure 
enough ! " 

As  if  by  magic  a  skin  rug,  snatched  from 
somebody's  floor,  was  tossed  over  the  sharp 
corners  of  the  rail.  Twenty  reckless  satel 
lites  of  Patsy  Tiernan  lifted  the  Ambassador 
from  his  feet.  He  made  the  best  of  an  un 
speakably  bad  matter,  shrugged  his  aristo- 
178 


Incident  of  the  British  Ambassador 

cratic  shoulders,  and  flung  his  leg  over  the 
rail.  It  was  hoisted  to  the  shoulders  of  the 
maddened  young  patriots,  and  three  times 
did  the  frantic  procession  circle  the  huge 
bonfire,  amid  the  rapturous  cheers  of  half 
the  university,  and  the  silent  apprehensions 
or  awe-stricken  exclamations  of  the  other 
half.  Then  it  vanished  toward  Tommy's 
house,  just  as  the  university  proctor  had 
fought  his  way  to  within  a  hand's  grasp  of 
the  rail. 

At  this  instant  one  of  the  very  knowing 
freshmen  nudged  a  classmate  and  whis 
pered,  "  Ain't  you  on  to  it,  Atkins  ?  I  am. 
Those  upper-classmen  are  trying  to  play 
horse  with  us.  That  ain't  Lord  Cuthbert 
Rawlins  at  all.  That's  Andrews,  Ninety- 
Blank  ! " 

On  the  other  side  of  the  bonfire,  at  the 
same  moment,  an  idea  suggested  itself  to  a 
sallow  youth  with  glasses.  He  edged  away 
circumspectly,  and  then  dashed  off  to  the 
telegraph  office. 

"This  will  be  hot  stuff  for  The  Enter 
prise"  he  murmured,  and  he  glanced  over 
his  shoulder  as  he  ran,  to  make  sure 
179 


Incident  of  the  British  Ambassador 

that  The  Unspeakable's  correspondent  had 
not  taken  a  hint  from  his  own  departure.  It 
was  9.20.  The  Ossian  office  closed  at 
9.30,  unless  there  were  dispatches  waiting 
to  be  sent ;  and  the  heart  of  The  Enterprise 
correspondent  was  tuneful  as  he  discovered 
that  there  was  nobody  ahead  of  him  and  that 
the  operator  was  still  at  his  desk. 

He  scribbled  the  first  sheet  of  his  story, 
and  pushed  it  under  the  wire  screen  toward 
the  operator. 

"  Here,  Fred,"  said  he,  "  I  want  you  to 
rush  this.  I'll  have  some  more  ready  in  a 
minute,  and  to-night  I'll  try  to  keep  ahead 
of  you."  He  laughed  gleefully  at  the 
thought  of  his  beat. 

But  the  operator  shook  his  head,  without 
so  much  as  glancing  at  him.  "  You'll  have 
to  wait,"  he  remarked.  "  Mr.  Andrews  has 
the  wire  just  now ; "  and  he  clicked  away 
with  irritating  composure.  A  five-dollar 
bill  reposing  just  then  in  his  trousers  pocket 
may  have  aided  his  philosophy.  He  was 
telegraphing  page  after  page  of  the  Uni 
versity  Catalogue,  in  order  to  hold  the  wire, 
while  the  editor  of  The  Orbit,  opening  his 
180 


Incident  of  the  British  Ambassador 

eyes  as  sheet  after  sheet  of  that  valuable 
matter  was  brought  him,  perceived  a  jour 
nalistic  feat,  and  hazarded  the  opinion  that 
perhaps  young  Andrews  was  not  after  all  an 
irremediable  fool. 

Meantime  The  Enterprise  man  paced  the 
office  anxiously,  and  before  long  The  Un- 
speakablc's  correspondent  came  panting  in. 
The  latter's  face  fell  as  he  recognized  his 
rival. 

"  How  long'll  I  have  to  wait,  Fred?  "  he 
demanded. 

"  No  idea,"  said  Fred,  looking  up  from 
the  catalogue  with  a  yawn.  He  seemed 
mightily  indifferent. 

Just  then  Andrews,  Ninety-Blank,  saun 
tered  into  the  office,  a  bit  of  lamb's  wool 
still  sticking  to  his  cheek  and  the  powder 
only  half  out  of  his  hair.  He  nodded  cor 
dially  to  the  correspondents,  and  marched 
straight  around  to  the  inner  inclosure,  where 
he  seated  himself  comfortably  by  the  oper 
ator,  and  began  to  sharpen  a  lead  pencil. 

"  Could  you  tell  me  how  soon  you'll  be 
through,  Mr.  Andrews?"  ventured  The 
Enterprise  youth.  He  was  only  a  soph- 
181 


Incident  of  the  British  Ambassador 

omore ;  last  year  a  nod  from  Jerry  Andrews 
would  have  made  him  supremely  happy. 

"  Possibly  by  twelve,"  replied  Andrews 
courteously,  "  but  I  wouldn't  like  to  prom 
ise." 

"  I  suppose  not !  "  said  the  sophomore,  in 
dignified  irony,  and  he  strolled  to  the  door 
with  as  much  indifference  as  he  could 
assume.  The  Enterprise  went  to  press  at 
midnight.  The  only  other  telegraph  office 
within  possible  reach,  at  that  hour,  was  ten 
miles  away.  If  he  had  a  wheel,  though,  he 
might  make  it  in  time,  and  prevent  The 
Orbit's  beat.  And,  behold,  there  was  The 
Unspeakable 's  fellow's  wheel  at  the  very 
curbstone,  with  even  the  lantern  lighted. 
He  took  one  look  at  the  owner,  who  was 
arguing  hotly  with  Fred,  swung  his  leg  over 
the  saddle,  and  pedalled  off,  under  the  clear 
October  starlight. 

Five  miles  out  of  town  he  narrowly  es 
caped  collision  with  a  closed  carriage,  in 
which  were  seated  the  President  of  the  Uni 
versity  and  Lord  Cuthbert  Rawlins,  driving 
homeward  in  great  peacefulness  of  heart  and 
chatting  confidentially,  as  it  happened,  about 
182 


Incident  of  the  British  Ambassador 

the  unfortunate  antagonism  to  Great  Britain 
which  is  sometimes  exhibited  in  unculti 
vated  American  society. 

RIOT  AT   OSSIAN. 

RIDDEN   ON  A  RAIL!! 

ABE  LINCOLN  SPLIT  IT  ;    LORD  CUTHBERT  RAW- 

LINS  RODE  IT,  WITH  A  SEALSKIN  SADDLE ! 

BRITISH  AMBASSADOR  LEARNS  THE 

SPIRIT  OF  AMERICAN  COLLEGE 

BOYS.    QUERY:    WILL  THE 

LION  ROAR? 

These  were  the  headlines  of  the  "  exclu 
sive  "  intelligence  which  the  New  York 
Orbit  spread  before  its  readers  the  next 
morning.  The  beat  was  the  talk  of  News 
paper  Row,  for  the  scanty  version  of  the 
affair  telegraphed  to  The  Enterprise  from 
a  town  ten  miles  away  from  the  scene  of  the 
riot  was  scarcely  worth  considering  as  news, 
though  it  confirmed  the  most  startling  feat 
ures  of  the  incident.  The  other  morning 
papers  issued  later  editions,  embodying 
The  Orbit's  story,  for  there  was  no  mis 
taking  the  popular  excitement,  or  the  tem 
per  of  the  crowds  that  surrounded  the  bul- 
183 


Incident  of  the  British  Ambassador 

letin  boards.  Some  were  incredulous,  ready 
to  recognize  a  colossal  American  joke, 
though  not  quite  convinced  that  it  was  a 
joke.  More  were  grave,  knowing  the  ten 
sion  that  already  existed  between  the  two 
countries,  and  that  the  slightest  strain  might 
cause  irrevocable  disaster. 

The  real  crisis,  however,  was  not  in  New 
York,  as  everybody  knows,  but  in  Lon 
don.  The  New  York  correspondent  of 
the  London  Times  lost  his  head  for  once, 
and  cabled  The  Orbit's  account  of  the  Os- 
sian  incident  entire.  The  Times  extras  were 
flung  upon  the  streets  shortly  after  two 
o'clock.  If  New  York  had  rocked  like  a 
ship  in  a  storm  at  the  news  of  the  insult  to 
Lord  Cuthbert  Rawlins,  London  was  like 
the  sea  itself.  American  securities  went 
down,  down,  and  out  of  sight.  But  nobody 
cared.  The  Ossian  incident  had  been  the 
lightning  flash  that  revealed  how  far  apart 
the  two  nations  had  drifted.  Better  war 
now  than  another  week  of  heart-breaking 
anxiety.  Let  it  come ! 

When  the  House  of  Commons  convened 
that  afternoon,  the  members  had  to  fight 
184 


Incident  of  the  British  Ambassador 

their  way  through  a  mob  a  hundred  thou 
sand  strong  that  besieged  the  Palace  Yard. 
The  Minister  of  Foreign  Affairs  was  late  in 
taking  his  seat,  and  when  he  strolled  for 
ward  to  his  place  on  the  government  bench, 
his  careless  manner  was  strangely  at  vari 
ance  with  the  drawn  lines  around  his  mouth 
and  his  haggard  eyes.  For  three  hours  he 
had  been  cabling  to  Washington  and  to  the 
British  consul  at  New  York  for  confirma 
tion  of  the  news  about  Lord  Cuthbert  Raw- 
lins,  but,  beyond  the  bare  fact  that  the  Brit 
ish  ambassador  had  gone  to  Ossian  the  day 
before,  no  tidings  of  him  were  obtainable. 
He  had  disappeared  from  the  sight  of  the 
Foreign  Office  as  completely  as  if  the  rail 
split  by  Abe  Lincoln  had  borne  him  off  the 
planet,  and  the  Minister  of  Foreign  Affairs 
was  in  despair. 

And  where  was  Lord  Cuthbert  Rawlins? 
He  was  on  the  golf  links  at  Ossian,  playing 
the  game  of  his  life.  While  the  President  of 
the  University  was  waiting  for  his  distin 
guished  guest  to  appear  at  breakfast,  his 
secretary  had  handed  him  The  Orbit.  A 
185 


Incident  of  the  British  Ambassador 

thousand  copies  had  been  rushed  into  town 
by  the  early  train ;  every  student  had  seen 
one ;  and  four  reporters  were  already  in  the 
front  hall  to  interview  his  lordship.     In  the 
face  of  this  annoyance,  the  result,  no  doubt, 
of  the  silliness  of  some  new  correspondent, 
Tommy  exhibited  that  astuteness  in  which 
Ossian  found  a  perpetual  delight.     He  in 
vited  the  reporters  to  come  again  in  an  hour, 
got   The  Orbit  out  of  sight,  and  told  his 
best  stories  at  the  breakfast  table  until  the 
chapel  bell  had  long  stopped  ringing  for 
morning  prayers.      Then  he  looked  at  his 
watch,  declared  it  was  so  late  that  he  would 
abandon  his  intention  of  taking  his  guest  to 
morning  chapel — did  he  not  know  that  an 
ecstatic  crowd  of  collegians  were  awaiting 
the  arrival  of  the  British  envoy ! — and  pro 
posed  that  instead  of  looking  over  the  uni 
versity  buildings  they  spend  the  morning  on 
the  links.      Lord  Cuthbert  Rawlins  was  a 
famous   player,   as   everybody   knew,   and 
Tommy's  son  was  then  the  holder  of  the  in 
tercollegiate  championship.      To  the  links 
the  party  drove  then,  by  a  circuitous  road, 
the  wise  Tommy  leaving  no  hint  of  their 
1 86 


Incident  of  the  British  Ambassador 

destination.     Hour  after  hour,  through  that 
long  forenoon,  reporters  and  callers  and 
telegrams  and  cablegrams  accumulated  in 
the  President's  mansion,  while  Lord  Raw- 
lins,  in  total  ignorance  of  any  international 
excitement,    went    over    the    eighteen-hole 
course  like  a  boy  of  twenty,  and  at  the  end 
of  the  match  had  the  champion  three  down. 
At  lunch-time,  and  not  before,  he  was  told 
in  Tommy's  inimitable  style  of  the  news 
paper  joke  that  had  been  practised  upon  the 
public  at  his  expense.      His  lordship  dis 
creetly  chose  to  consider  it  a  deliciously 
characteristic  example  of  American  humor. 
He  even  smiled  at  the  cablegrams  which  had 
been  forwarded  to  him  from  Washington, 
though  his  smile  by  this  time  was  decidedly 
a   diplomatic   one.     Yet  he  sent  a   semi- 
jocular  dispatch  to  the  Minister  of  Foreign 
Affairs,  and  then  devoted  himself  to  the  ex 
cellent  luncheon,  which  was  attended  by  the 
heads  of  the  departments  of  the  university, 
all  eager  to  atone  for  the  silly  action  of  some 
unknown   correspondent  of   a   sensational 
newspaper.     They  laughed  at  all  of  his  lord 
ship's  anecdotes,  and  talked  solemnly  to  him 
187 


Incident  of  the  British  Ambassador 

about  the  brotherhood  of  educated  men  on 
both  sides  of  the  Atlantic. 

And  at  that  very  instant,  making  due  time 
allowance,  the  Minister  of  Foreign  Affairs, 
white-faced  and  sick  at  heart,  was  trying  to 
explain  to  an  angry  House  that  it  had  been 
impossible  to  communicate  directly  with  the 
Ambassador  to  the  United  States,  but  that 
there  was  no  reasonable  doubt  that  the  Os- 
sian  incident  was  largely  exaggerated,  and 
that,  in  any  case,  Her  Majesty's  government 
could  be  relied  on  to  take  such  steps  as  were 
necessary  to  preserve  the  national  honor. 
Friendship  with  the  United  States,  it  was 
needless  to  say,  was  too  important  to  be 
lightly  thrust  aside,  and  so  forth — and  so 
forth. 

It  was  useless.  The  House  would  have 
none  of  his  phrases.  Fifty  members  were 
on  their  feet  at  once,  shouting  and  gesticu 
lating  at  the  Speaker.  A  London  Socialist 
got  the  floor,  as  it  chanced,  and  threatened 
the  Government  with  a  resolution  of  lack  of 
confidence.  It  was  an  ill  wind  that  would 
blow  his  coterie  no  good,  and  this  was  a 
whirlwind.  For  a  moment  it  looked  as  if 
1 88 


Incident  of  the  British  Ambassador 

the  Government  was  doomed,  but  the  leader 
of  the  House  got  the  floor  by  a  trick,  and  in 
a  masterly  little  speech  moved  a  war  budget 
of  ten  million  pounds.  To  that  appeal  to 
British  patriotism  there  could  be  but  one  re 
sponse.  The  budget  was  rushed  from  read 
ing  to  reading  without  a  single  dissenting 
voice ;  the  alarming  intelligence  was  flashed 
to  every  corner  of  the  wide  world ;  and  just 
then  the  Minister  of  Foreign  Affairs  re 
ceived  his  dispatch  from  Lord  Cuthbert 
Rawlins,  written  during  lunch  in  the 
dining-room  of  the  President's  mansion 
at  Ossian,  United  States  of  America. 
He  consulted  a  moment  with  his  col 
leagues,  and  then  read  it  to  the  House. 
It  is  famous  now,  and,  indeed,  it  is 
said  that  Earl  Rawlins's  present  political 
station  is  due  to  the  singular  popularity 
which  that  dispatch  brought  him.  It  ran : 
"Rumor  of  insult  groundless.  Newspaper 
joke.  Entire  courtesy  everyzvhere.  Have 
just  beaten  American  champion  at  golf, 
breaking  all  American  records." 

The  House  came  down  from  the  sublime 
with  a  bump.     A  pompous  gentleman  of  the 
189 


Incident  of  the  British  Ambassador 

'Opposition  who  began  a  sarcastic  speech 
about  the  American  conception  of  a  joke 
was  laughed  off  his  feet,  as  wave  after  wave 
of  merriment  rolled  heavily  over  the  surface 
of  the  House.  There  were  cheers  for  Lord 
Cuthbert  Rawlins,  cheers  for  the  golf  cham 
pionship,  cheers  for  Her  Majesty,  cheers 
galore ;  and  thus  ended,  as  far  as  Parliament 
was  concerned,  the  incident  of  the  British 
Ambassador. 

When  Jerry  Andrews  reported  for  duty 
that  afternoon,  the  crowd  was  jostling  yet 
around  The  Orbit's  bulletin  boards.  That 
enterprising  sheet  was  still  throwing  off  ex 
tra  after  extra  to  exploit  its  journalistic  feat, 
treating  the  whole  affair  with  the  cheer 
ful  cynicism  which  The  Orbit  prided  itself 
upon  maintaining  in  every  exigency.  Its 
editor  leaned  on  his  elbows  blandly  as  Jerry 
walked  up  to  his  desk. 

"  You  found  some  news  over  there,  I 
judge,"  he  remarked. 

"  Or  made  some,"  replied  Andrews,  de 
murely,  catching  his  eye. 

"  Humph !  "  said  the  editor  with  Delphic 
ambiguity ;  but  for  the  first  time  in  the  tradi- 
190 


Incident  of  the  British  Ambassador 

tions  of  the  paper,  he  offered  the  reporter  a 
cigar.  That  cigar  is  hanging  over  Mr.  An- 
drews's  desk,  in  The  Orbit  office,  at  this 
moment. 


191 


The  Fish- Warden  of  Madrid 


The  Fish- Warden  of  Madrid 


TT  was  universally  remarked  in  Madrid — 
Madrid,  Vermont — that  the  death  of 
Beriah  Tate  was  a  loss  to  the  town.  Even 
the  time  of  his  departure  was  inconvenient, 
being  only  a  week  after  the  March  meeting 
in  which,  for  the  tenth  year  in  succession,  he 
had  been  elected  first  selectman,  road-mas 
ter,  overseer  of  the  poor,  and  constable.  In 
order  to  fill  these  various  positions  it  was 
necessary  to  call  a  special  town  meeting. 
The  orthodox  church,  likewise,  was  forced 
to  choose  a  deacon  in  Beriah's  stead,  and  a 
new  representative  on  the  committee  of  the 
County  Bible  Society.  Of  all  the  offices  in 
church  and  state  which  the  departed  had 
filled  so  acceptably,  there  was  but  one  that 
now  went  begging.  It  was  that  of  fish- 
warden. 

The  fish  and  game  laws  had  never  been 
195 


The  Fish -Warden  of  Madrid 

taken  very  seriously  by  the  natives  of 
Madrid.  Beriah  had  been  induced  to  accept 
the  post  simply  because  the  Tate  place  lay 
upon  the  hill-top  above  the  junction  of  the 
East  and  West  Branches,  and  the  fish-com 
missioner  argued  that  the  city  fellows  who 
came  up  on  Sundays  and  out  of  season  to 
catch  four-inch  trout  would  be  frightened 
off  if  they  knew  that  the  deacon  was  a  war 
den.  And  so  they  were,  but  the  warden  let 
his  own  summer  boarders  fish  as  they  liked, 
without  asking  them  any  questions  for  con 
science'  sake.  He  nailed  a  synopsis  of  the 
fish  and  game  laws,  printed  on  white  cotton 
cloth,  to  the  horse-barn  door,  next  to  the  ad 
vertisement  of  Bowker's  fertilizers ;  and  his 
personal  responsibility  for  his  boarders 
ended  here.  It  was  because  of  Beriah 
Tate's  long  experience  with  human  nature 
that  he  was  such  a  loss  to  the  town. 

A  month  after  his  death  one  of  the  fish- 
commissioners  drove  into  the  yard  of  the 
Tate  place.  Alonzo  Robbins,  the  hired 
man,  was  raking  up  the  chips  left  from  the 
winter's  wood-pile,  under  the  close  super 
vision  of  Beriah's  widow. 
196 


The  Fish -Warden  of  Madrid 

"  Expecting  your  boarders  soon,  Mis' 
Tate?  "  inquired  the  commissioner. 

"  Not  till  July,"  replied  the  widow,  plain 
tively.  "  But  he  was  always  slow  about  hav 
ing  the  yard  cleaned  up,  and  so  I  thought 
that  this  year  I'd  be  a  little  forehanded.  You 
left  a  chip  there,  Alonzo." 

"  Beriah's  a  great  loss,"  volunteered  the 
commissioner. 

"  He  was  kind  of  handy  to  talk  to  the 
boarders  after  supper,"  assented  Mrs.  Tate, 
"  and  to  keep  'em  feeling  good  right  along. 
I  don't  know  what  we're  going  to  do  with 
out  him." 

"  Mis'  Tate,  that  cake  ought  to  come  out 
of  the  oven !  "  called  a  clear  young  voice 
from  the  kitchen  window. 

"  You'll  have  to  excuse  me,"  exclaimed 
the  widow.  "  Won't  you  come  in  ?  " 

The  commissioner  shook  his  head,  and 
the  kitchen  door  slammed  behind  Beriah's 
sad-voiced  but  efficient  relict. 

The  hired  man  glanced  up  at  the  commis 
sioner.  An  indolent  deviltry  lurked  in  his 
black  eyes,  but  his  olive  face  was  otherwise 
expressionless  and  rather  stupid.  The  com- 
197 


The  Fish -Warden  of  Madrid 

missioner  coughed  queerly,  and  the  two  men 
grinned. 

"Guess  you'll  have  to  take  it  this 
summer,"  commented  the  commissioner. 
"  When's  your  year  up  ?  " 

"  Next  January,"  said  Alonzo. 

The  commissioner  scrutinized  his  broad, 
easy-hung  shoulders,  and  the  slouching, 
tireless  fashion  in  which  he  was  pushing  the 
rake. 

"  I  suppose  we've  got  to  have  another 
fish-warden,"  he  said,  abruptly,  "  and  it 
ought  to  be  somebody  in  this  district.  Will 
you  try  it,  'Lonzo  ?  " 

The  hired  man  reflected.  "  He  didn't 
make  out  much  with  it,"  he  drawled.  "  Just 
was  fish-warden.  It  didn't  amount  to  noth- 
in'." 

"  You  can  make  it  amount  to  something, 
if  you  want  to." 

Alonzo  pushed  the  rake  a  trifle  more  de 
liberately.  "  I  ain't  office-seekin',  I  guess." 

"  How  about  hog-reeve?  "  suggested  the 
commissioner. 

The  shot  told.  "  Well,"  said  Alonzo,  de 
fiantly,  "  I  s'pose  they  elected  me  hog-reeve 
198 


The  Fish -Warden  of  Madrid 

at  March  meetin'  just  because  they  thought 
it  would  be  smart,  along  toward  the  end  of 
the  afternoon.  They  think  that  the  Rob- 
binses  ain't  clever  enough  for  that,  not 
scarcely.  Just  let  any  of  Alf  Raymond's 
pigs  get  through  the  fence  this  summer,  and 
I'll  show  'em,  my  gorry !  " 

"  That's  right !  "  cried  the  commissioner. 

Alonzo  kicked  vindictively  at  a  deeply 
buried  chip.  "  There  ain't  any  money  in 
bein'  fish-warden,  is  there?  " 

"  You  get  half  the  fine  if  you  catch  any 
body  violating  the  law.  Still,  if  you  don't 
want  it " 

"  What  do  you  do  with  'em  if  you  do 
catch 'em?" 

"  Why,  arrest  them.  Then  you  drive  the 
fellow  over  to  Warwick  to  the  justice  of  the 
peace,  and  he  collects  the  fine.  That  part 
of  it  is  easy  enough.  I'll  give  you  a  little 
book  that  explains  everything.  Still,  if  you 
don't  want  to  try  it,  I  don't  know  but  Alf 
Raymond  would  take  it."  It  was  the  com 
missioner's  trump  card,  but  he  played  it  with 
a  fine  carelessness. 

"  I  might  think  it  over  for  a  few  days," 
199 


The  Fish -Warden  of  Madrid 

drawled  the  hired  man.  "  I  dun'no'  but 
I'll  take  it,  and  then  again  I  dun'no'  as  I 
will." 

"  Oh,  well,"  said  the  commissioner,  pick 
ing  up  his  reins,  "  I  can't  come  'way  over 
here  again.  I  guess  that's  Alf  coming  now, 
ain't  it  ?  "  He  chirruped  to  the  horse. 

"  My  gorry !  I've  got  half  a  mind  to  try 
it,"  asseverated  Alonzo. 

"  Very  well,  then,"  said  the  commissioner, 
promptly  thrusting  the  landing  net,  as  it 
were,  under  his  captive.  "I'll  have  the 
papers  made  out  right  away.  Got  a  middle 
name?" 

«  HP  » 

"  T.  ?  "  queried  the  commissioner. 

"  Alonzo  Turnham  Robbins,"  explained 
the  hired  man,  stiffly,  beginning  to  rake 
again. 

"  Oh !  "  said  the  commissioner.  The 
Turnhams  were  considered  "  mean  blood  " 
in  Madrid ;  at  least  half  of  them  were  "  on 
the  town."  He  cramped  his.  buggy.  "  Hen 
rietta  going  to  stay  along  this  summer?" 
he  inquired,  casually,  nodding  toward  Mrs. 
Tate's  kitchen. 

200 


The  Fish -Warden  of  Madrid 

"  Yes,  I  guess  she's  goin'  to  stay  along," 
repeated  the  hired  man,  indifferently. 

"  Makes  a  nice  girl  for  Mis'  Tate,"  said 
the  commissioner.  "  Well,  Beriah  was  a 
great  loss.  G'long !  " 

II 

AFTER  supper  the  hired  man  seated  him 
self  upon  the  chopping-block,  facing  the 
door  of  the  horse-barn,  and  began  to  spell 
out  the  fine  print  upon  the  Fish  and  Game 
League's  poster.  The  seriousness  of  his 
mental  attitude  was  indicated  by  the  fact 
that  he  was  smoking  a  Pittsburg  stogy,  a 
rite  which  he  ordinarily  performed  only  on 
Sunday  afternoons.  The  April  dusk  was 
closing  in,  and  down  by  the  brook  the  frogs 
were  calling.  The  scent  of  coming  spring 
was  in  the  air. 

"  '  Fish  when  not  to  be  taken,' "  Alonzo 
repeated,  slowly. 

"  '  Black  Bass — Between  Jan.  ist  and 
June  1 5th. — Penalty  $5  each. 

" '  Wall-eyed  Pike,  or  Pike-Perch,  White 
Perch,  or  Muskallonge'" — some  of  these 

201 


The  Fish -Warden  of  Madrid 

words    were    hard    reading  —  "  '  Between 
April  i ^th  and  June  i$th — $5  each. 

" '  Trout,  Land-locked  Salmon,  Salmon- 
Trout,  or  Longe — Between  Sept.  ist  and 
May  ist — not  more  than  $10  each. 

" '  Trout,  Land-locked  Salmon,  and  Sal 
mon-Trout,  when  taken  less  than  six  inches 
in  length,  must  be  immediately  returned, 
with  least  possible  injury,  to  waters  from 
which  taken> — not  more  than  $10  each/  " 

"  That's  it !  "  murmured  the  hired  man, 
solemnly.  "  That's  the  law — my  gorry ! 
'  When  taken  less  than  six  inches  in  length, 
must  be — immediately — returned — with — • 
least — possible — injury — to  waters  from 
which  taken/  You  can't  get  around  that." 

"  Reading  the  Bible  out  here,  'Lonzo  ?  " 
inquired  a  cool,  chaffing  voice  at  his  shoul 
der.  "  I  thought  it  must  be  Sunday,  from 
that  cigar.  Phew !  " 

He  turned,  shamefacedly,  but  pulled  ob 
stinately  at  the  stogy.  "  Don't  you  like  it, 
Henrietta  ?  "  he  said,  with  a  foolish  smile. 

Henrietta  ignored  him.  She  had  been 
bending  over  the  sink,  doing  up  the  supper 
dishes,  and  now  she  patted  her  disarranged 

202 


The  Fish -Warden  of  Madrid 

curls  into  place  again,  with  lithe,  coquettish 
movements  of  her  bare,  rosy  arms,  as  if  the 
door  of  the  horse-barn  were  a  mirror.  He 
watched  her,  his  black  eyes  glistening. 
There  was  something  provoking  in  the 
girl's  slight,  delicious  figure,  faint  color,  and 
the  blue  eyes  that  commonly  glanced  at  him 
with  dainty  contempt.  She  was  eighteen ; 
"  hired  help  "  for  the  time  being,  but  still 
the  niece  of  a  member  of  the  Legislature 
and  cousin  to  a  home  missionary.  She 
looked  down  upon  Alonzo  as  a  dullard,  as 
related  to  those  Turnhams  who  were  always 
coming  upon  the  town.  In  spite  of  the  in 
timacy  forced  upon  them  as  members  of  the 
same  household,  she  was  secretly  afraid  of 
him.  She  thought  his  eyes  were  wicked; 
she  grew  restless  when  he  stared  at  her  in 
stupid  admiration ;  and  she  would  not  have 
let  him  know  it  for  the  world. 

"Don't  you  like  it,  Henrietta?"  he  re 
peated,  stolidly,  balancing  the  stogy  be 
tween  his  fingers. 

She    bent    toward    him    suddenly    and 
snatched  it,  tossing  it  over  the  barn-yard 
fence  before  he  recovered  from  his  surprise. 
203 


The  Fish -Warden  of  Madrid 

Then  she  pretended  she  had  burned  her 
hand.  He  leaped  up  to  examine  it,  where 
upon  she  hid  her  bare  arms  behind  her  back 
with  a  gesture  infinitely  challenging.  But 
she  knew  beforehand  that  he  would  not  dare. 
Confused,  admiring,  helpless,  he  stared  at 
her.  She  faced  him  like  a  triumphant  god 
dess,  serenely  taunting. 

"  What  on  earth  are  you  doing?  "  she  de 
manded. 

"  I  was  settin'  here  mindin'  my  own  busi 
ness,"  he  drawled. 

"  What  business  have  you  with  the  game 
laws?  Going  fishing?"  And  she  began 
to  run  over  some  of  the  unfamiliar  names 
upon  the  poster — Mitskallonge — Longe — and 
lower  down,  Capercailzie — Black  Game — 
Ptarmigan.  She  had  missed  a  spelling  prize 
once  on  that  last  word. 

"Maybe  I'm  goin'  fishin'.  And  then, 
again,  maybe  not." 

She  shrugged  her  shoulders.  "  I  know 
who'll  clean  'em,  if  you  do." 

"You  won't,  eh?  Well,  maybe  I  ain't 
goin',"  he  confided,  cunningly. 

"  Don't  be  smart,"  she  advised. 
204 


The  Fish -Warden  of  Madrid 

"  Maybe  I'll  let  the  other  fellows  catch 
the  fish,  and  I'll  catch  them,  my  gorry !  " 
"What?" 

"  Fish-warden,"  he  confessed,  with  an 
embarrassed  smile. 

She  laughed  in  his  face.  "  You  a  fish- 
warden?  You  can't  catch  anybody.  You 
don't  move  fast  enough." 

"I  don't?"  he  cried,  provoked  to  un 
wonted  daring,  and  he  lunged  toward  her 
with  outstretched  arms.  His  fingers 
touched  her  waist,  but  she  dodged  him  and 
stood  panting. 

"  No,  you  don't,  'Lonzo  Robbins,"  she 
said,  coolly.  "  Don't  you  wish  you  could  ?  " 

He  breathed  heavily,  too,  but  made  no 
answer.  The  croaking  of  the  frogs  down 
by  the  East  Branch  seemed  of  a  sudden 
strangely  loud  to  the  girl. 

"  I  guess  I  must  go  in,"  she  remarked,  in 
a  quieter  mood.  But  she  kept  her  eyes  on 
him. 

"  Don't  tell  Mis'  Tate,"  he  entreated. 

"Tell  what?" 

"  'Bout  my  bein'  fish-warden." 

"Oh!" 

205 


The  Fish -Warden  of  Madrid 

"  She  might  not  like  it,  'long  as  'twas  one 
of  his  offices,  you  know.  And  she  might 
think  I  wa'n't  'tendin'  to  business.  You 
won't,  will  you  ?  " 

"  Not  if  you  behave  yourself,  Alonzo 
Robbins,"  she  replied,  meaningly.  He  did 
not  answer,  and  they  sauntered  toward  the 
house,  side  by  side,  in  the  falling  dusk. 

The  hired  man  did  not  again  betray  any 
open  interest  in  the  synopsis  of  the  fish  and 
game  laws.  But,  when  a  fresh  poster  was 
sent  him  the  following  week,  together  with 
his  papers  as  fish-warden,  he  carried  the 
weather-beaten  one  up  to  his  chamber  un 
der  the  eaves  of  the  kitchen  roof,  and  studied 
it  doggedly,  night  after  night,  until  he  knew 
its  provisions  by  heart. 


Ill 

THERE  was  high  water  in  all  the  Madrid 
brooks  that  spring,  and  the  fishing  was  late. 
The  men  who  had  formerly  driven  into  town 
Sunday  mornings,  leaving  their  buggies 
hitched  among  the  willows  at  the  bridge, 
appeared  but  rarely,  and  never  stayed  long 
206 


The  Fish -Warden  of  Madrid 

enough  to  allow  Alonzo  a  look  at  their 
baskets.  The  early  boarders  at  the  Tate 
place  were  mostly  maiden  ladies  with  liter 
ary  proclivities,  and  the  only  fisherman  that 
appeared  among  them  was  an  expert  with 
the  fly,  who  scorned  to  bring  home  anything 
less  than  quarter-pounders.  June  passed 
and  July  came,  and  still  the  hired  man  had 
had  no  opportunity  to  prove  his  efficiency  as 
an  officer  of  the  law.  Henrietta  had  kept  his 
secret,  though  her  ambiguous  remarks  to 
him  in  Mrs.  Tate's  presence  had  been  upon 
the  point  of  exposing  him  a  dozen  times. 
Whenever  they  happened  to  be  alone  to 
gether,  she  rallied  him  upon  his  lack  of  offi 
cial  energy,  until  he  was  thoroughly  piqued. 
"  My  gorry,"  he  used  to  say  to  himself  at 
night,  as  the  tattered  poster  caught  his  black 
Turnham  eyes — "  my  gorry,  I'll  show  her !  " 
And  it  stuck  in  his  head  that  it  would  be  a 
fine  revenge  upon  her  to  take  her  down  to 
Warwick  to  hear  a  band  concert,  or  perhaps 
to  the  cattle  show  in  September — provided 
she  would  go  with  him — upon  the  money 
that  he  proposed  to  get  as  his  share  of  the 
fines. 

207 


The  Fish -Warden  of  Madrid 

One  morning  in  the  second  week  of  July 
Mrs.  Tate  received  a  telegram  from  Hart 
ford,  signed  Benj.  F.  Dupree,  requesting 
her  to  reserve  a  room  for  him,  and  to  send 
someone  to  meet  him  at  the  Madrid  station 
at  four-thirty  that  afternoon.  The  tele 
graph  office  was  three  miles  away,  and  the 
delivery  of  the  message  cost  Mrs.  Tate  a  dol 
lar  and  a  half,  which  she  thoughtfully  added 
to  the  price  of  the  room  that  was  set  in  or 
der  for  the  stranger.  It  was  in  the  height 
of  the  haying  season,  and  Henrietta,  the  only 
person  who  could  be  spared  in  mid-after 
noon,  put  the  mare  into  the  Concord  wagon 
and  drove  down  to  meet  Mr.  Dupree. 

Alonzo  happened  to  be  in  the  yard,  un 
loading  hay,  when  she  returned,  just  as, 
doubtless,  Mrs.  Tate  happened  to  be  look 
ing  through  her  bedroom  blinds,  and  all  the 
boarders  happened  to  be  grouped  upon  the 
front  piazza. 

As  the  mare  swung  around  into  the 
shadow  of  the  maples,  Alonzo's  eye  was  the 
first  to  detect  that  Henrietta  was  not  driving. 
She  was  sitting  on  the  extreme  end  of  the 
seat,  watching,  apparently,  the  trail  of  the 
208 


The  Fish -Warden  of  Madrid 

front  wheel  upon  the  dusty  road.  The  mo 
ment  the  wagon  halted  she  sprang  out  with 
out  a  word,  and  marched,  red-faced  and 
straight-shouldered,  toward  the  kitchen 
door,  leaving  the  hired  man  to  do  the  hon 
ors  of  the  Tate  place  for  the  new  arrival. 

Mr.  Benj.  F.  Dupree  tossed  the  reins  to 
him,  and  leisurely  descended ;  then  scruti 
nized  the  mare's  fore  legs  a  moment,  passed 
one  hand  judiciously  over  the  off  knee — it 
had  been  slightly  sprained  the  summer  be 
fore — and  uttered  just  one  word  of  Green 
Mountain  freemasonry : 

"Ham'letonian?" 

"Yes,  sir,"  drawled  the  delighted  hired 
man.  "  Straight  as  a  string.  Dr.  Johnson 
out  of  Lem  Payson's  Susie." 

The  new-comer  nodded  respectfully,  and 
stood  by  in  silence  while  Alonzo  pulled  his 
suit-case  from  under  the  seat  of  the  wagon. 
He  was  anywhere  from  twenty-five  to  forty, 
slight  of  stature,  smooth-shaven  and  merry- 
eyed,  and  the  youthfulness  of  his  appearance 
was  increased  by  the  latest  fashion  in  colored 
shirt  and  white  collar,  and  a  marked-down 
golf  suit. 

209 


The  Fish -Warden  of  Madrid 

"  Look  out  for  that  rod,"  he  said,  briskly, 
as  Alonzo  lifted  a  bundle  made  up  of  walk 
ing-stick,  umbrella,  and  rod-case,  where 
upon  the  fish-warden  laid  the  bundle  very 
cautiously  upon  the  grass. 

Mrs.  Beriah  appeared  at  this  juncture, 
and  plaintively  presented  herself,  Mr.  Du- 
pree  attending  her  to  the  front  door  and  up 
stairs  to  his  room  with  elaborate  ceremonial. 
He  came  to  supper  in  his  golf  suit,  shortly 
thereafter,  and  his  conversation  with  the 
maiden  ladies  was  commendably  versatile. 
He  was  a  broker,  they  learned,  and  was  just 
removing  from  Hartford  to  New  York. 
They  quite  counted  upon  him  to  enliven 
their  after-supper  session  upon  the  front 
piazza,  but  after  a  few  moments  of  desultory 
admiration  of  the  view,  Mr.  Dupree  disap 
pointed  them  by  filling  a  bull-dog  pipe  and 
sauntering  around  the  corner  of  the  house. 
He  found  Alonzo  seated  on  the  kitchen 
porch,  whistling  to  the  tame  crow.  Henri 
etta  had  been  there,  too,  but  she  disappeared 
promptly  when  she  saw  the  broker  ap 
proaching.  The  hired  man  refused  a  prof 
fered  cigar — principally  because  he  was  too 
210 


The  Fish -Warden  of  Madrid 

surprised  to  accept  it — but  Mr.  Dupree 
proved  himself  companionable,  and  it  was 
quite  dark  when  their  exchange  of  views 
upon  Vermont  horses  and  Connecticut  leaf 
tobacco  and  the  pleasures  of  country  life 
was  terminated. 

As  Alonzo  went  up  to  bed,  he  paused  a 
moment  in  the  kitchen,  where  Henrietta  sat 
alone  over  the  county  paper. 

"  Real  smart  feller,"  volunteered  the  hired 
man,  with  a  nod  of  his  head  toward  the 
front  of  the  house. 

Henrietta  read  on  in  silence. 
"  Guess  he's  something  of  a  fisherman," 
persisted  Alonzo.     "  Wants  me  to  try  the 
West  Branch  with  him  to-morrow,  if  it's  too 
wet  to  mow." 

"He's  an  awful  fool,"  said  Henrietta, 
curtly. 

The  hired  man  stared.  Then  his  slow 
wits  recalled  the  fact  that  she  had  seemed 
out  of  temper  when  she  drove  in  with  the 
stranger  from  the  depot. 

"  Why,  what  you  got  against  him,  Henri 
etta?"  He  had  that  foolish  smile  which 
the  girl  detested. 

211 


The  Fish -Warden  of  Madrid 

"  Oh,  he's  horrid !  "  she  burst  out,  with 
feminine  conclusiveness.  Whereupon  she 
folded  the  paper  with  unnecessary  precision, 
and  proceeded  to  wind  the  kitchen  clock 
noisily. 

The  baffled  hired  man,  quite  used,  alas! 
to  being  ignored,  shook  his  head  and 
grinned,  and  tiptoed  up  the  creaking  back 
stairs  to  his  tiny  room.  Before  he  un 
dressed  he  put  his  head  out  of  the  window 
for  one  more  guess  at  the  weather  probabili 
ties,  and  then,  impelled  by  some  vagrant 
fancy,  he  pulled  the  weather-beaten  poster 
of  the  fish  and  game  laws  out  of  his  pocket, 
and  read  it  through  again. 


IV 


THE  next  morning,  however,  dawned 
bright  and  hot,  and  Alonzo  spent  the  day 
upon  the  seat  of  the  mowing-machine.  In 
the  middle  of  the  forenoon,  Mr.  Dupree 
strolled  down  through  the  meadow,  rod  in 
hand,  and  carrying  a  new  fish-basket 

212 


The  Fish -Warden  of  Madrid 

"  I  suppose  it's  rather  too  clear  for  good 
fishing,"  he  remarked,  cheerfully,  as  Alonzo 
reined  in  his  horses. 

"  Well,  it's  consid'able  clear,"  Alonzo  ad 
mitted. 

"  Will  you  tell  me  once  more  how  to  get 
to  that  Porter  brook?" 

Alonzo  repeated  his  directions,  and 
watched  with  some  envy  the  alert  figure  of 
the  broker  striding  away  over  the  meadow. 
Mr.  Dupree  had  slung  his  basket  around  his 
neck  in  a  curious  fashion,  but  the  hired  man 
supposed  it  was  the  latest  style.  He  clucked 
regretfully  to  the  horses,  gave  a  pull  at  the 
handle-bar,  and  the  machine  clattered  for 
ward  again  upon  its  monotonous  round. 

Dupree  did  not  return  to  dinner,  but  late 
in  the  afternoon  the  hired  man  saw  him 
tramping  home  through  the  upper  pasture. 

"  Did  that  feller  from  Hartford  get  any 
trout?"  he  inquired  carelessly  of  Mis' 
Beriah,  as  he  was  washing  up  for  supper  by 
the  back  door. 

"  Seems  to  me  he  did  get  a  few,"  replied 
the  widow.     "  Henrietta  thought  they  were 
most  too  small  to  clean." 
213 


The  Fish -Warden  of  Madrid 

The  fish-warden  dried  his  face  thought 
fully. 

After  supper  he  seated  himself  upon  the 
side  porch,  and  lighting  a  stogy,  so  as  not 
to  seem  dependent  upon  Mr.  Dupree,  he 
awaited  the  latter's  coming.  But  the  broker 
lingered  upon  the  front  piazza.  A  niece  of 
one  of  the  maiden  ladies  had  arrived  that 
afternoon  from  Kansas  City,  and  Mr.  Du 
pree  was  occupied  with  the  congenial  task 
of  pointing  out  to  her  those  very  charms  of 
the  evening  landscape  which  twenty-four 
hours  before  he  had  himself  forsaken  for  a 
pipe.  The  girl  from  Kansas  City  seemed  to 
have  a  large  fund  of  sympathetic  apprecia 
tion. 

The  hired  man,  therefore,  was  left  to  his 
solitary  smoke.  By  and  by  Henrietta  came 
out,  bringing  a  rocking-chair  from  the  sit 
ting-room.  Apparently  she  was  intending 
to  stay  there. 

"  Ain't  you  kind  o'  fixed  up  ?  "  demanded 
Alonzo,  admiringly,  gazing  at  her  freshly 
starched  shirt-waist  and  jaunty  white  tie. 

"  I  don't  know,"  she  replied,  in  a  tone  cal 
culated  to  discourage  conversation. 
214 


The  Fish -Warden  of  Madrid 

Alonzo  waited  tranquilly  and  then  tried 
again :  "  Got  a  new  boarder,  ain't  we  ?  What 
does  she  look  like?" 

"  She's  dreadful  citified,"  said  the  country 
beauty.  "  And  she's  making  a  fool  of  her 
self  out  there  with  that  Hartford  man  this 
very  minute.  But,  then,  I  don't  care  if 
she  does,"  she  added,  smoothing  out  her 
skirts. 

Alonzo  thought  this  lofty  indifference  to 
the  foibles  of  the  Kansas  City  girl  very  be 
coming;  but  it  was  too  complex  a  subject 
for  his  conversational  powers. 

He  attempted  something  easier.  "Where's 
Mis'Beriah?" 

"  Out  there,"  Henrietta  sighed  scorn 
fully,  with  a  toss  of  her  head  toward  the  front 
of  the  house.  "  If  city  boarders  want  to  see 
us,  they  know  where  to  find  us  quick 
enough,  without  our  traipsing  round  after 
them." 

"  That's  so,"  approved  Alonzo.  "  I  kind 
o'  thought  Mr.  Dupree  'd  be  round  here 
again  to-night,  to  tell  me  what  luck  he  had 
fishin'." 

"  He  ain't  any  fisherman,"  declared  the 
215 


The  Fish -Warden  of  Madrid 

girl.     "  I  don't  believe  he  ever  saw  a  trout 
before,  to  hear  him  talk  about  'em." 

"  Wa'n't  they  good  ones  ?  "  asked  the  war 
den,  cunningly. 

'  'Bout  so  long,"  she  said,  contemptuous 
ly,  marking  off  some  three  inches  upon  her 
pink  forefinger. 

"  Lemme  see,"  and  Alonzo  laid  his  big 
brown  finger  against  hers.  To  his  surprise, 
she  did  not  withdraw  her  hand,  and  he  meas 
ured  with  painstaking  deliberation. 

"  I  don't  suppose  you'd  want  to  swear  to 
that,  would  you,  Henrietta  ?  "  he  ventured, 
with  a  suppressed  excitement  that  betrayed 
itself  only  in  his  eyes.  They  were  shining 
in  the  twilight. 

She  caught  their  expression,  and  snatched 
her  finger  from  his  grasp.  "  I  don't  know 
whether  I  would  or  not,"  she  declared,  put 
ting  her  hands  behind  her  head,  and  begin 
ning  to  rock  vigorously. 

"Sh!"  warned  Alonzo. 

A  procession  of  boarders,  headed  by  Du- 

pree  and  the  Kansas  City  maiden,  streamed 

volubly  around  the  corner  of  the  house  and 

across  the  back  yard,  halting  at  last  by  the 

216 


The  Fish -Warden  of  Madrid 

pasture  bars  to  watch  the  moon  rise  over 
Bald  Head.  The  discovery  of  this  interest 
ing  method  of  killing  time  on  summer  even 
ings  was  due  to  the  genius  of  the  lamented 
Beriah.  Nobody  paid  any  attention  to  the 
hired  man  and  hired  girl  upon  the  side 
porch. 

The  procession  irritated  Henrietta.  She 
still  resented  Mr.  Dupree's  playful  familiar 
ity  toward  her  when  he  took  away  the  reins 
while  she  was  driving  him  from  the  depot ; 
she  resented  the  fact  that  to-night,  when  she 
felt  quite  able  to  hold  her  own  with  him,  he 
was  giving  her  no  opportunity  to  exhibit  her 
resentment ;  half  unconsciously,  also,  she  re 
sented  his  golf  suit  and  his  shiny  collars  and 
cuffs,  while  her  own  stupid  admirer  sat  here 
at  her  feet  in  sour  workaday  clothes — and 
she  knew  she  hated  the  girl  from  Kansas 
City.  An  unreasoning  antagonism  to  these 
"  city  folks  "  took  possession  of  her. 

"  Why  wouldn't  you  swear  to  it  ?  "  per 
sisted  Alonzo. 

"  Catch  him  yourself ! "  she  said,  low- 
voiced.  "  It  ain't  any  of  my  business." 

He  giggled  foolishly. 
217 


The  Fish -Warden  of  Madrid 

"  You'll  never  catch  him  by  sitting  here 
and  laughing,"  she  broke  in,  bitterly.  "And 
you  ain't  quick  enough,  anyway.  These 
city  fellows  are  too  smart  for  you,  'Lonzo. 
They're  too  smart  for  any  of  us,  I  guess !  " 

"  If  I'll  catch  him,"  proposed  Alonzo, 
"  will  you  go  down  to  Warwick  to  a  band 
concert  with  me,  on  the  money  ?  " 

"  In  a  minute !  "  exclaimed  the  girl,  reck 
lessly.  Then  her  conscience  misgave  her, 
and  she  tried  to  hedge.  "  Come  to  think, 
though,  it  don't  seem  quite  right  to  take  ad 
vantage  of  one  of  our  own  boarders.  And, 
anyway,  I  don't  believe  Mis'  Tate  would 
want  to  have  me  go  to  Warwick,  and " 

But,  to  her  amazement,  the  hired  man  had 
leaped  to  his  feet,  and  was  crossing  the  yard 
to  intercept  the  returning  procession  of 
boarders. 

"  Good-evenin',  Mr.  Dupree,"  she  heard 
him  drawl.  "  You  don't  want  to  go  fishin' 
to-morrow  mornin',  do  you  ?  " 


218 


The  Fish -Warden  of  Madrid 

V 

THERE  was  a  delicious  morning  coolness 
in  the  shadow  of  the  alders  along  the  tiny 
brook  that  crept  drowsily  through  the  home 
meadow  of  the  Tate  place.     The  dew  was 
heavy  on  the  rank  grass,  and  Dupree's  golf 
hose  were  drenched  to  the  knee.      But  he 
was  happy  in  the  sportsmanlike  sensation, 
and  busy,  besides,  for  the  brook  had  been 
posted  for  a  couple  of  years,  and  was  full  of 
fierce   little   fingerlings.     Alonzo   stood   a 
trifle  back  of  the  broker,  advising  him  how 
to  bait  his  hook,  to  shorten  his  line,  to  keep 
out  of  sight,  and  various  other  brotherly  ad 
monitions.     Dupree  was  over-anxious,  but 
naturally  light-handed,  and  trout  after  trout 
became  his  prey.     Once,  upon  basketing  a 
particularly  small  one^  he  glanced  question- 
ingly  at  Alonzo,  but  the  hired  man  made  no 
comment.     The  next  fish  was  even  smaller 
— a    wriggling,    red-bellied    wretch,    some 
three  inches  and  a  half  long.     Dupree  un 
hooked  it,  laid  it  across  the  palm  of  his  hand 
hesitatingly,  and  then  let  it  slide  irretriev 
ably  into  the  basket. 

219 


The  Fish -Warden  of  Madrid 

"  They  don't  enforce  that  six-inch  law  up 
here,  do  they  ?  " 

"  Not  generally,"  said  Alonzo,  with  so 
little  exhibition  of  interest  that  the  good- 
natured  broker  thought  he  was  getting 
bored. 

"  You  needn't  stay,  Alonzo,"  he  sug 
gested,  "  if  you  don't  want  to.  I'm  all  right 
now.  I  wish  you  had  brought  a  rod, 
too." 

"  I  might  just  as  well  stay,  I  guess,"  was 
the  laconic  reply. 

"  It's  more  exciting  than  mowing  grass, 
anyway !  "  assented  Dupree,  in  a  buoyant 
whisper.  And  he  jerked  a  tiny  trout  thirty 
or  forty  feet  into  the  meadow,  and  went  on 
to  the  next  hole,  while  the  warden  consid 
erately  tramped  through  the  grass  after  the 
flapping  fish. 

In  this  brotherly  fashion  did  the  two  men 
traverse  the  entire  meadow,  until  they 
reached  the  swamp.  "  I  don't  know 
whether  to  push  on  or  not,"  said  the  broker. 
"  I've  got  enough  to  amount  to  something 
already." 

"  They'll   amount   to   somethin'  consid'- 

220 


The  Fish  -Warden  of  Madrid 

able,"  remarked  the  hired  man,  cordially. 
"  I  wouldn't  go  any  further,  if  I  was  you. 
Why  not  count  'em  ?  " 

Mr.  Dupree  emptied  the  basket  on  the 
grass,  lined  the  bottom  artistically  with 
ferns,  and  put  back  the  trout  affectionately, 
one  by  one,  while  the  warden  kept  faithful 
tally.  There  were  twenty-three,  and  pre 
cisely  fourteen  of  them,  as  Alonzo  reckoned, 
rendered  Mr.  Dupree  liable  to  a  fine,  "  not  to 
exceed  ten  dollars  apiece."  It  was  time  to 
act. 

The  warden  coughed  slightly,  and  opened 
his  mouth  to  pronounce  the  fateful  sentence. 
Then  he  remembered  something  in  his  yel 
low-covered  book  of  instructions  about  the 
unlawfulness  of  taking  a  basket  while  it  was 
on  the  fisherman's  person,  and  the  advan 
tage  of  having  a  witness.  Perhaps,  too,  his 
conscience  pricked  him  for  the  contemplated 
disloyalty  to  a  boarder.  At  any  rate,  the 
words  merely  bubbled  in  his  throat. 

"  What  did  you  say  ?  "  asked  Dupree, 
busy  in  tying  up  his  rod. 

"  I  ain't  said  anything,"  exclaimed 
Alonzo,  hastily. 

221 


The  Fish -Warden  of  Madrid 

"  I'm  under  the  greatest  obligations  to 
you,"  remarked  the  broker. 

"  Oh,  I  dun'no'  'bout  that,"  replied  Alon- 
zo,  deprecatingly. 

The  two  men  tramped  back  to  the  house 
in  silence.  The  warden's  heart  pounded 
against  his  ribs ;  to  arrest  a  man  took  more 
courage  than  he  had  thought,  for  all  his 
twenty-three  years  and  his  bull  strength. 
They  entered  the  kitchen  side  by  side.  Mrs. 
Tate  had  driven  a  boarder  to  the  early  train, 
and  Henrietta  was  alone,  struggling  impa 
tiently  with  the  breakfast  dishes,  and  won 
dering  whether  Alonzo  would  really  dare  to 
arrest  the  broker.  She  turned  her  head  as 
the  men  entered,  and  flushed  a  trifle,  drying 
her  pink  arms  with  the  dish-towel. 

"  See  what  I've  caught !  "  cried  Dupree, 
jubilantly,  unslinging  the  basket  from  his 
shoulder  and  depositing  it  upon  the  table. 
His  triumphant  air  was  assurance  enough 
that  the  warden  had  held  his  peace.  The 
girl  stole  a  glance  at  Alonzo ;  he  could  not 
tell  whether  it  was  amusement  or  contempt 
or  fright  that  made  her  blue  eyes  dilate,  but 
at  that  look  he  took  the  bit  in  his  teeth. 

222 


The  Fish -Warden  of  Madrid 

"  Take  notice,  Henrietta,  that  he  admits 
bavin'  catched  the  trout !  "  he  broke  out. 
"  They  ain't  on  his  person  any  longer,  and 
fourteen  of  'em  are  under  the  law.  Mr.  Du- 
pree,  I've  got  to  arrest  you,  in  the  name  of 
the  State  of  Vermont." 

The  amazed  broker  faced  around.  "  You 
arrest  me!  "  he  exclaimed. 

"  Certain ;  I'm  the  fish-warden  of  this 
town,  and  I've  got  to  see  that  the  law  is  en 
forced." 

Henrietta's  face  was  white.  "  Don't  have 
any  trouble,"  she  moaned. 

"  Why,  you  took  me  down  to  the  brook 
yourself !  "  cried  Dupree.  "  You  stood  by 

and  encouraged  me  right  along "  and  he 

stopped,  aghast  at  the  thought  of  his  com 
panion's  duplicity. 

"  That  wa'n't  official,"  explained  Alonzo, 
stolidly.  "  It  wa'n't  any  of  my  business  if 
you  chose  to  break  the  law,  but  I've  got  to 
take  official  notice  of  it  now." 

"  What  do  you  want  of  me  ?  "  demanded 
the  broker,  with  as  much  show  of  dignity  as 
he  could  muster. 

223 


The  Fish -Warden  of  Madrid 

*'  I  want  you  to  drive  over  to  Warwick 
with  me  to  a  justice  of  the  peace." 

"  Suppose  I  don't  choose  to  go  ?  " 

The  hired  man  gazed  at  Dupree's  diminu 
tive  figure,  bristling  as  it  was  with  impotent 
fury.  He  burst  into  a  big  contemptuous 
laugh. 

"  My  gorry,"  he  cried,  stretching  out  his 
tanned  thumb  and  forefinger,  "  I'd  squash 
you  like  a  potato-bug  if  you  acted  foolish ! 
But  I  guess  you'll  go  along  without  any 
fuss,  won't  you  ?  " 

"  Don't,  don't !  "  sobbed  Henrietta.  "  It's 
my  fault."  But  neither  of  the  men  heeded 
her. 

"  You  dirty  country  loafer,"  began  Du- 
pree,  in  concentrated  passion;  and  then  he 
gave  way  to  a  torrent  of  expletives — not  the 
ingenious  euphemisms  which  occasionally 
pass  for  profanity  in  rural  districts,  but  gen 
uine  objurgations  which  would  have  done 
credit  to  any  English-speaking  seaport  in 
the  world.  Henrietta  ran  out  of  the  room 
in  terror,  and  one  of  the  maiden-lady 
boarders,  coming  innocently  to  the  kitchen 
for  a  drink  of  water,  returned  to  the  front 
224 


The  Fish -Warden  of  Madrid 

piazza  with  a  tale  that  wounded  the  broker's 
reputation  beyond  surgery. 


VI 


TEN  minutes  later,  the  warden  and  his 
captive  drove  out  of  the  yard.  Dupree  had 
agreed  to  go  without  any  "  foolishness," 
and  had  stood  quietly  by  while  Alonzo 
hitched  the  colt  on  to  the  buckboard.  In 
vain,  however,  did  the  hired  man  call  up  the 
back  stairs  for  his  witness.  Henrietta  had 
disappeared,  and  Alonzo  was  forced  to  go 
without  her.  The  six-mile  drive  to  War 
wick — the  one  village  in  Madrid  township — 
was  passed  in  unbroken  silence,  except  for  a 
single  episode.  As  the  warden  let  the  colt 
breathe  for  a  moment  at  the  top  of  the  long 
est  hill,  Dupree  turned  to  him  with  a  rather 
ineffective  laugh. 

"  Look  here,"  said  he ;  "  you've  got  me,  I 
guess,  and  we  won't  say  anything  now  about 
the  squareness  of  it.  You've  gone  into  this 
thing  for  the  money  in  it,  of  course.  May  I 
make  you  a  proposition  ?  " 
225 


The  Fish -Warden  of  Madrid 

"  Propositions  don't  cost  nothing" 
drawled  Alonzo. 

"  I'll  give  you  twenty  dollars  to  turn  the 
colt  around." 

"  Git  ap !  "  called  the  warden,  virtuously. 
The  colt  sprang  forward,  and  not  another 
word  was  spoken  on  either  side. 

The  justice  of  the  peace  was  alone  in  his 
tiny,  white-painted  office,  adjoining  the  gen 
eral  store.  He  was  tipped  back  comfort 
ably  in  his  chair,  his  feet  resting  upon  some 
legislative  reports,  leisurely  digging  a  sliver 
out  of  his  finger  with  a  jack-knife.  He 
looked  up  amiably  as  Alonzo  entered,  the 
confiscated  fish-basket  in  hand,  followed  by 
the  broker.  Dupree  took  off  his  hat  as  he 
came  in. 

"  What  is  it,  'Lonzo  ?  "  coughed  the  jus 
tice,  from  the  depths  of  his  huge  chest. 

"  This  feller's  been  violatin'  the  fish  V 
game  laws,"  began  the  warden.  "  He's 
catched  fourteen  trout  that  are  under  length. 
I  see  him  catch  'em,  but  I've  got  a  witness 
besides,  only  she  ran  upstairs,  and,  gorry! 
I  didn't  know  how  to  get  hold  on  her." 

"  That'll  do  for  now,"  remarked  the  jus- 
226 


The  Fish -Warden  of  Madrid 

tice,  shutting  up  his  jack-knife.     "  You  ad 
mit  the  facts,  Mr. ?  " 

"  In  one  sense,  yes,"  said  the  broker ;  "  but 
there  are  extenuating  circumstances " 

"What's  that?" 

"  Extenuating  circumstances,"  repeated 
Dupree,  very  distinctly. 

"  Oh !  "  said  the  justice.  "  Well,  there 
has  to  be  a  complaint  sworn  to  before  the 
grand-juror  first.  Henry !  " 

There  was  a  door  from  the  back  of  the 
justice's  office  into  the  store,  and  in  response 
to  the  summons  the  grand-juror  of  the  town 
ship,  who  was  wrapping  up  a  cake  of  soap 
for  a  child,  made  his  appearance. 

"  Fish  case,"  explained  the  justice,  suc 
cinctly.  "  Tell  Orville  to  come  in,  if  he's 
got  the  mail  distributed.  You'd  just  as  lief 
wait  a  few  minutes  if  he  hain't  ?  " 

The  broker  assented. 

"  Lemme  see  those  fish,"  remarked  the 
justice  ;  and  he  poked  them  gravely  with  his 
forefinger  while  the  clerk  of  the  court  fin 
ished  distributing  the  mail. 

"  Fish  with  a  worm  ?  "  he  inquired,  in 
cavernous  tones. 

227 


The  Fish -Warden  of  Madrid 

Dupree  nodded.  That  seemed  to  make 
his  guilt  all  the  deeper. 

The  grand-juror  and  clerk  of  the  court 
made  their  official  entrance  at  this  point,  and 
the  trial  began.  It  was  less  spectacular  than 
Dupree  expected — mainly  a  filling  out  of 
papers,  and  a  lifting  of  Alonzo's  brawny 
right  hand  in  response  to  certain  mumbled 
formulae,  and  the  hateful  story  of  the  morn 
ing's  fishing  narrated  in  detail.  Then  came 
Dupree's  turn.  His  gentlemanly  bearing, 
his  plea  that  it  was  a  first  offence,  and  Alon 
zo's  manifest  trickiness,  were  evidently  in 
his  favor.  When  he  had  finished  his  re 
marks,  the  grand-juror  and  the  clerk  of  the 
court  exchanged  approving  nods.  But  the 
justice  turned  over  the  pages  of  the  Revised 
Statutes  imperturbably. 

There  was  a  long  silence,  save  for  the 
rustle  of  the  slowly  turned  leaves.  Alonzo 
mopped  his  face.  This  was  harder  work 
than  mowing. 

"  Twenty  dollars,"  pronounced  the  justice 
at  last,  "  taking  into  consideration  the  ex- 
teneratin'  circumstances  of  the  case.     Half 
228 


The  Fish -Warden  of  Madrid 

the  fine  goes  to  the  warden,  don't  it,  Or- 
ville?" 

The  clerk  nodded.  A  smothered  excla 
mation  of  disappointment  escaped  from 
Alonzo.  Had  it  not  been  for  his  official  in 
tegrity,  he  could  have  made  more  money 
than  this  by  turning  the  colt  around  on  the 
top  of  that  last  hill. 

"  Your  honor,"  said  Mr.  Dupree,  "  if  that 
fine  seems  just  to  you,  I  have  nothing  more 
to  say.  But  we  left  Mrs.  Tate's  in  such  un 
seemly  haste  that  I  find  I  have  only  a  couple 
of  dollars  of  change  with  me.  What  can  I 
do?" 

The  justice  seemed  nonplussed. 

But  the  grand-juror,  fertile  in  resources, 
whispered  to  the  clerk  of  the  court.  "  How 
about  a  check  ?  "  he  suggested. 

Dupree  turned  to  him,  gratefully.  "  Why, 
of  course !  "  he  said.  "  Thank  you.  I  think 
I  must  have  a  blank  check  somewhere." 
And  he  began  to  search  his  pocket-book. 
"  Good  enough ! "  he  exclaimed,  pulling  out 
a  tiny  oblong  of  buff  paper. 

"  Well,  see  here,"  coughed  the  justice, 
"  you're  boarding  up  to  Tate's,  and  it's  all 
229 


The  Fish -Warden  of  Madrid 

right,  of  course,  only  'Lonzo's  name  had  bet 
ter  go  on  there,  too,  to  identify  you." 

"  Certainly,"  agreed  Dupree,  and  he  drew 
a  check  for  twenty  dollars  on  the  Asbestos 
Bank  of  Hartford,  to  the  order  of  Alonzo  T. 
Robbins,  which  the  hired  man  clumsily  in 
dorsed,  and  passed  over  to  the  clerk  of  the 
court,  who  gave  him  in  return  a  ten-dollar 
bill. 

"  That  completes  the  transaction,  I  in 
fer?  "  inquired  Dupree. 

"  Guess  that's  all  there  is  to  it,"  replied 
the  justice  genially,  pulling  out  his  jack- 
knife,  and  beginning  to  examine  his  finger 
once  more. 

"  Will  you  have  some  bottled  soda,  gen 
tlemen  ?  "  asked  the  grand-juror ;  and  the 
five  men  stalked  into  the  general  store  and 
drank  their  soda  from  the  original  packages. 
Dupree  had  framed  some  choice  sentences 
expressive  of  his  opinion  of  Vermont  law 
and  Vermont  courts  and  Vermonters  in  gen 
eral,  which  he  had  expected  to  deliver  on  the 
sidewalk.  But  the  generosity  of  the  grand- 
juror  quite  disarmed  him,  and  he  even  went 
through  the  pretence  of  shaking  hands  all 
230 


The  Fish -Warden  of  Madrid 

around — except  with  the  warden — before 
stepping  into  the  buckboard  by  Alonzo's 
side. 

On  the  way  back  to  Madrid,  however,  he 
made  up  for  his  temporary  abstinence.  He 
told  Alonzo  exactly  what  he  thought  of  him, 
painting  with  hot  adjectives  his  ancestry,  his 
career  to  the  present  hour,  the  probable  fort 
unes  of  his  posterity,  and  the  sure  fate  that 
awaited  him  hereafter.  It  was  a  masterpiece 
of  imprecatory  eloquence,  but  the  only  ef 
fect  it  produced  upon  the  stolid  hired  man 
was  to  bring  to  his  face  that  expressionless 
grin  which  had  proved  so  irritating  to  Hen 
rietta. 

"  I've  got  the  ten  dollars,"  reflected  Alon 
zo  ;  "  I  can  afford  to  let  him  do  a  little  talk- 
in'." 

When  they  drove  into  the  yard  of  the  Tate 
place  the  boarders  were  at  dinner,  but  Mrs. 
Tate,  arrayed  in  her  best  black  mohair,  was 
pacing  nervously  back  and  forth  upon  the 
piazza.  The  buckboard  halted  there,  and 
Dupree  sprang  out.  But  the  widow  had  the 
first  word. 

"  Mr.  Dupree,"  she  declared,  with  shak- 
231 


The  Fish -Warden  of  Madrid 

ing  voice,  "  you'll  find  some  dinner  up  in 
your  room.  This  is  an  awful  thing  that's 
come  upon  us.  I've  kep'  boarders  for  sev 
enteen  years  last  June,  and  never  had  a  pro 
fane  swearer  in  my  house  before.  Sh! 
Now,  I  don't  want  one  word  from  you.  The 
stage  will  be  along  here  in  half  an  hour,  and 
it's  going  to  stop  to  take  you  to  the  depot. 
I  sha'n't  charge  a  penny  for  your  board  for 
these  three  days — not  one  penny — though, 
if  you  want  to  pay  me  the  dollar  and  a  half 
on  that  telegram,  you  can.  Sh!  I  know 
all  about  it.  If  it  wa'n't  right  in  the  middle 
of  the  haying,  I'd  send  Alonzo  off  for  playin' 
a  trick  on  a  boarder ;  but  it's  dreadful  hard  to 
get  hired  help,  and  I'll  have  to  let  him  stay. 
But  I'll  stop  the  fish-warden  business  right 
away.  'Lonzo  Robbins,  you  drive  that  colt 
over  to  the  horse-barn!  If  Beriah  hadn't 
up  and  died  last  spring,  this  wouldn't  have 
happened.  Mercy  me !  " 

And  putting  her  fingers  in  her  ears,  to 
shut  out  any  contaminating  sounds  that 
might  escape  the  broker's  lips,  she  retreated 
to  her  bedroom.  Nor  did  she  reappear  to 
claim  the  dollar  and  fifty  cents  when  Mr. 
232 


The  Fish -Warden  of  Madrid 

Benj.  F.  Dupree,  suit-case  and  rod  in  hand, 
climbed  aboard  the  stage  and  lifted  his  hat 
in  grim  farewell  to  the  Kansas  City  girl,  who 
was  the  only  boarder  with  moral  courage 
enough  to  appear  upon  the  front  piazza. 

VII 

FOR  a  whole  week  thereafter  the  arrest 
and  departure  of  the  unfortunate  broker  was 
the  sole  topic  of  conversation  at  Beriah 
Tate's.  Alonzo  found  himself  in  disgrace. 
The  boarders  looked  the  other  way  when 
they  saw  him  coming,  and  after  supper  he 
had  no  one  to  talk  to  except  the  tame  crow. 
Henrietta,  his  temptress  to  the  deed  which 
had  discredited  him,  treated  him  with  osten 
tatious  contempt.  Once  he  barred  her  way 
as  she  was  hurrying  through  the  wood-shed. 

"  You  said  you'd  go  to  the  band  concert 
with  me,  Henrietta,"  he  pleaded. 

"  Did  I  say  when,  Alonzo  Robbins  ?  "  she 
demanded,  scornfully ;  and  he  was  forced  to 
let  fall  his  arms  and  allow  her  to  pass.  Day 
after  day  went  by,  but  she  did  not  relax,  and 
he  began  to  realize  how  deeply  he  had  sinned 
233 


The  Fish -Warden  of  Madrid 

against  the  unwritten  laws  of  hospitality.  In 
her  revolt  from  him,  Henrietta  even  went  so 
far  as  to  strike  up  a  belated  friendship  with 
Miss  Formand,  the  girl  from  Kansas  City. 

One  evening,  as  Alonzo  sat  alone  on  the 
side  porch,  chirruping  dejectedly  to  the 
broken-winged  crow,  a  team  from  Warwick 
trotted  sharply  into  the  yard.  His  late  ac 
quaintance  the  grand-juror  was  driving,  and 
the  corpulent  justice  of  the  peace  filled  out 
the  remainder  of  the  seat. 

"Has  that  fellow  gone?"  coughed  the 
justice,  almost  before  the  horses  were 
brought  to  a  stand-still. 

"  He's  gone,"  replied  Alonzo,  sulkily. 

The  justice  looked  around  at  the  grand- 
juror. 

"  He  didn't  leave  any  address  ?  "  inquired 
the  latter. 

"  Not  as  I  know  of,"  said  Alonzo.  "  He 
went  pretty  quick,  toward  the  last." 

"  Humph !  "  exclaimed  the  justice,  com 
prehensively. 

The  grand- juror  looked  at  Alonzo  with  a 
peculiar  expression  that  roused  the  hired 
man's  sluggish  curiosity. 
234 


The  Fish -Warden  of  Madrid 

"  What  did  you  want  of  him  ? "  he 
drawled. 

The  grand-juror  nudged  the  justice. 

"  Well,  Alonzo,"  began  the  latter,  "  come 
to  collect  that  check,  it  wa'n't  good  for  noth- 
in'.  The  Asbestos  Bank  of  Hartford  broke 
down,  it  seems,  more'n  a  year  ago.  Seems 
to  me  I  remember  reading  about  it  in  some 
newspaper  or  other  at  the  time.  This  fellow 
was  kind  o'  mad,  I  guess,  and  happened  to 
have  that  blank  check  in  his  pocket,  and 
filled  it  out.  Little  too  smart  for  us,  I 
guess." 

"  If  we  could  only  git  him,"  put  in  the 
grand-juror,  confidently. 

"  Yes,  but  how  to  git  him,  Henry,"  com 
plained  the  justice.  "  He's  out  of  the  State 
long  afore  this,  and  the  Montpelier  Bank  is 
making  a  fuss  about  that  twenty  dollars. 
The  fact  is,  Alonzo,  it  looks  as  if  that  twenty 
dollars  would  have  to  come  out  of  you,  as 
long  as  you  indorsed  the  fellow's  check  for 
him." 

"  My  gorry !  "  cried  Alonzo,  stubbornly, 
"  how  do  you  make  that  out  ?  " 

They  made  it  out  for  him,  first  in  one  way 
235 


The  Fish -Warden  of  Madrid 

and  then  in  another,  until  he  was  thoroughly 
frightened. 

"  I've  got  the  ten  dollars  you  gave  me," 
he  owned  at  last.  "  I  was  goin'  to  break  it 
last  Saturday  night  down  to  the  band  con 
cert,  but — I  didn't  go  down.  I'll  go  up 
stairs  and  get  that  for  you,  but  I  can't  raise 
another  cent,  not  if  I  have  to  go  to  jail  for 
it!" 

Tears  of  chagrin  were  in  his  eyes  as  he 
stumbled  up  the  back  stairs  to  his  room. 
On  the  landing  he  met  Henrietta. 

"  Here,"  she  whispered,  hurriedly.  "  I 
was  up  in  Miss  Formand's  room,  and  we 
heard  every  word.  She's  lent  me  five  dol 
lars,  and  here's  five  that  I  had.  You  take 
it,  and  you  can  pay  me  by  and  by.  You've 
got.  to  take  it,  Alonzo  Robbins.  I  put  you 
up  to  it,  in  the  first  place,  out  of  wickedness. 
And  I  might  have  known  that  Mr.  Dupree 
would  do  something  horrid.  Miss  Formand 
thinks  about  him  just  as  I  do,  now.  Go  right 
along!" 

He  went  down  and  paid  over  the  money 
like  a  man,  and  like  a  man  he  came  back  to 
the  narrow,  dimly  lighted  landing.  The 
236 


The  Fish -Warden  of  Madrid 

girl  had  been  of  a  dozen  minds  about  run 
ning  away,  but  she  was  still  there. 

"  I'm  awfully  sorry,"  she  said,  remorse 
fully,  "  that  I  got  you  into  trouble." 

"  That's  all  right,"  declared  Alonzo.  "  I 
was  kind  o'  set  on  that  trip  to  the  concert, 
but  I  don't  suppose  you'd  want  to  go  now  ?  " 

Henrietta  was  silent.  Her  hand  was  upon 
the  door  of  her  own  room. 

"  I  sha'n't  have  any  money  till  the  end  of 
next  month,"  he  said  gloomily. 

His  contrition  touched  the  girl.  "  About 
going  to  Warwick,"  she  ventured,  "  hearing 
the  band  is  the  main  thing,  and  that  don't 
cost  anything.  You  don't  have  to  have  ice 


cream." 


"  Then  you  would  go?  "  he  cried.  The 
clumsiness  slipped  from  his  powerful  figure 
for  the  moment,  and  the  girl  caught  the 
eagerness  in  his  black  eyes. 

«  i_might,"  she  owned,  half  pleased,  half 
startled. 

He  stole  a  step  nearer  in  the  dusk. 

"  Perhaps  Miss  Formand  would  like  to 
go,  too,"  she  added,  hastily. 

"  That  wouldn't  be  quite  the  same  thing," 
237 


The  Fish -Warden  of  Madrid 

said  the  poor  fellow.  "  But  I'll  take  her  if 
you  want  to  have  her  along." 

The  girl  opened  the  door  of  her  room  with 
an  affectation  of  carelessness,  but  without 
taking  her  eyes  from  him.  "  Come  to 
think,"  she  said,  with  indifference,  "  I  don't 
know  but  that  buckboard  seat  would  be 
rather  narrow  for  three." 

And  before  he  could  show  his  transport 
she  closed  the  door  lazily,  sleepily,  behind 
her. 


238 


Jepson's  Third  Adjective 


Jepson's  Third  Adjective 

\A/E  used  to  say  in  college  that  Jepson  was 
a  good  fellow  enough  when  he  wasn't 
bothering  us  with  questions.  It  was  not 
that  he  asked  so  many,  but  that  those  he  did 
ask  were  so  difficult  to  answer.  Looking 
back  at  it  now,  I  suppose  the  boy  had  a  rest 
less  mind,  with  a  turn  for  analysis  that  made 
him  dissatisfied  with  our  ready-made  con 
clusions.  We  had,  for  instance,  the  easiest 
way  in  the  world  of  disposing  of  our  class 
mates.  We  ranked  them  early  in  the  course 
as  either  trumps  or  fools  and  never  troubled 
ourselves  with  a  new  inventory.  But  Jep 
son  insisted  upon  asking,  "  Why  is  Jones  a 
fool?"  and  when  we  succinctly  replied, 
"  Because  he  is,"  he  used  to  smile  in  an  irri- 
tatingly  superior  fashion.  He  had  a  passion 
for  distinctions.  He  recognized  a  dozen 
varieties  of  trumps  and  had  at  least  fifty  dif 
ferent  pigeon-holes  for  fools,  and,  what  was 
241 


Jepson's  Third  Adjective 

worst  of  all,  he  was  forever  making  cross 
references  and  new  assortments.  None  of  us 
felt  quite  safe  with  him,  and  yet  we  liked  to 
have  him  around. 

For  one  thing,  he  tormented  the  profess 
ors  a  good  deal  more  than  he  did  us.  He 
used  to  ply  them  with  all  sorts  of  queries  that 
carried  them  helplessly  out  of  their  depart 
ments.  The  scientific  professors  thought 
him  too  literary,  and  the  literary  ones  called 
him  hopelessly  scientific,  but  "  Synonym  " 
Jepson  managed  to  be  a  thorn  in  the  sides  of 
both.  Whether  he  would  ultimately  turn  to 
literature  or  to  science  none  of  us  could 
guess.  We  were  always  expecting  great 
things  from  Jepson  in  the  way  of  contribu 
tions  to  the  college  magazine,  but  he  in 
variably  tore  up  his  verse  and  prose,  in  some 
secret  dissatisfaction  with  his  own  phrases. 
On  the  whole,  we  were  not  surprised  at  the 
end  of  the  course  when  he  decided  to  study 
medicine. 

For  two  or  three  years  I  lost  sight  of  the 

man  entirely.    One  of  the  fellows  ran  across 

him  somewhere  and  reported  that  Synonym 

Jepson  had  grown  a  beard  and  was  worse 

242 


Jepson's  Third  Adjective 

than  ever.  When  pressed  for  an  explanation 
he  informed  me  that  Jepson  had  been  putter 
ing  with  philosophy,  in  addition  to  his 
professional  studies,  and  had  developed  a 
new  phase  of  the  question-posing  mania. 
No  longer  contented,  it  seemed,  with  draw 
ing  distinctions,  he  now  concerned  himself 
with  general  concepts,  with  wholes  instead 
of  parts,  with  abstractions  in  place  of  par 
ticulars,  and  nevertheless  he  could  not 
quite  get  over  his  old  habits,  and  accordingly 
tried  to  nail  the  absolute  with  single  words 
and  to  pin  down  the  airiest  abstraction  with 
an  epithet. 

I  listened  to  these  remarks  without  much 
enthusiasm,  but  was  reminded  of  them  two 
or  three  months  later  when  Jepson  and  I 
happened  to  drift  together  in  New  York. 
He  already  had  a  hospital  appointment,  I 
believe,  but  he  was  free  that  evening,  and 
we  dined  together  and  talked  over  old 
times  and  went  to  the  theatre.  There  was 
a  new  Juliet  who  was  the  talk  of  the  town 
just  then,  and  Jepson  insisted  on  our  going 
around  to  see  her.  We  went  in  late,  I  re 
member,  and  the  only  seats  obtainable  were 
243 


Jepson's  Third  Adjective 

two  in  the  extreme  front  of  the  orchestra 
chairs,  at  the  right,  with  nothing  but  an 
iron  rail  between  us  and  the  man  who  played 
the  cymbals.  I  noticed  that  Jepson  nodded 
to  this  individual  after  the  first  act,  and  he 
explained  that  the  cymbalist  was  the  land 
lord  of  his  boarding  house. 

I  paid  no  further  attention  to  him,  for 
the  excitement  of  the  town  over  the  new 
Juliet  was  quite  justified,  and  the  eyes  of 
any  young  fellow  in  his  senses  belonged  that 
night  upon  the  stage.  The  mounting  of  the 
play  was  perfect  and  the  heroine  was  mar 
vellously  fitted  for  her  role.  Even  the 
members  of  the  orchestra,  hardened  as  they 
might  have  been  after  a  three  weeks'  run, 
stayed  in  their  seats  to  see  the  girl  go 
through  the  balcony  scene,  so  singular  and 
irresistible  was  her  charm.  People  all  over 
the  house  sat  breathless  while  she  played 
that  scene,  and  I  was  extremely  provoked 
in  the  middle  of  it  to  feel  my  elbows  sharply 
jogged  by  Synonym  Jepson.  His  restless 
black  eyes  were  fastened  upon  the  man  of 
cymbals,  and  following  his  gaze  I,  too,  for 
a  moment  forgot  the  spectacle  upon  the 
244 


Jepson's  Third  Adjective 

stage.  The  cymbalist,  alone  among  the 
musicians,  was  oblivious  of  the  actress. 
He  was  bending  by  his  tiny  gas  jet,  the  beads 
of  perspiration  glistening  upon  his  bald 
head,  his  fat,  wrinkled  face  pursed  into  a 
comical  intentness,  his  spectacled  eyes  por 
ing  over  a  letter.  His  lips  moved  slowly  and, 
as  I  thought,  with  a  somewhat  silly  smile 
as  he  read  and  re-read  the  lines. 

"Let  me  tell  you  something  by  and  by," 
whispered  Jepson,  and  my  eyes  went  back 
to  Juliet's  balcony.  When  the  play  was 
over  and  we  were  crowding  out  through  the 
lobby,  the  praises  of  the  Juliet  echoing  all 
around  us,  Jepson  turned  to  me  with  all  his 
old  eager  look.  "I  was  going  to  tell  you 
about  my  landlord,"  he  laughed.  "I 
wouldn't  have  missed  that  sight  for  a  good 
deal.  What  do  you  suppose  that  was  which 
he  was  reading?  Guess." 

"I  don't  know,"  I  remarked,  rather  peev 
ishly.  "You  made  me  lose  the  best  lines  in 
that  play  over  it." 

"Never  mind  that.  We  had  a  bit  of  the 
genuine  thing  there  all  to  ourselves.  It's 
better  than  acting.  Think  of  it !  "  he  went 
245 


Jepson's  Third  Adjective 

on;  "isn't  it  queer?  There  was  the  whole 
house  going  wild  over  a  feigned  love  pas 
sage,  pairs  of  lovers  listening  in  the  galler 
ies,  young  girls  dreaming  in  the  boxes, 
older  people  smiling,  or  sighing,  or  smiling 
at  themselves  for  sighing — who  knows? — 
and  all  the  while  that  pudgy  cymbalist  sits 
quite  unconcerned  by  his  gas  jet  and  reads — 
what  do  you  imagine?  Why,  a  letter  from 
his  third  wife,  who's  gone  to  Chicago  to 
spend  a  month  with  her  grown-up  daughter 
and  writes  him  every  day!  They've  been 
married  five  years.  She  has  as  much  mind 
as  an  oyster,  about  as  much  figure  as  a 
doughnut,  and  it's  my  private  belief  that  she 
is  as  bald  as  he.  Yet  he  would  rather  read 
her  letter  than  look  at  Juliet !  If  that  fellow 
with  the  French  horn  had  only  moved  to  let 
him  pass,  I  suppose  he  might  have  had  the 
grace  to  read  it  off  underneath  the  stage 
somewhere,  instead  of  there  in  the  face  of 
gods  and  men." 

"In  the  face  of  Synonym  Jepson,"  I  in 
terpolated.  "Nobody  but  you  would  have 
noticed  him." 

We  were  out  on  Broadway  now,  under  the 
246 


Jepson's  Third  Adjective 

flaring  cluster  of  lamps   that   marked   the 
theatre  entrance. 

"Well,  perhaps  not,"  smiled  Jepson. 
"But  it  gave  me  my  money's  worth.  It 
struck  me  queerly.  Say,  life  is  queer,  isn't 
it?"  We  stood  in  silence  a  moment,  the 
strangely  assorted  theatre  throng  jostling 
past  us. 

"If  you  could  sum  up  life  in  one  word," 
broke  in  Jepson,  "why  wouldn't  it  be  the 
word  '  queer  ?  '  No,  that  isn't  quite  the  ad 
jective;  let's  see,  'odd,'  'strange'— no,  the 
word  is  'droll.'  That's  just  it,  isn't  it? 
Life  is  droll" 

"You're  the  same  old  Jepson,"  said  I. 
"  Nevertheless,  I  think  you  have  your  hands 
full  when  you  try  to  describe  life  with  a  sin 
gle  adjective." 

"You  are  quite  right!"  cried  Jepson, 
with  an  intonation  that  made  me  feel  I  had 
given  utterance  to  a  profound  idea.  "  It 
would  take  more  than  one.  Two,  perhaps  ? 
No,  three  would  be  better ;  that  would  give 
a  sort  of  triple  unity,  wouldn't  it?  Four 
would  simply  spoil  everything.  But  the  first 
shall  be  'droll.'  " 

247 


Jepson's  Third  Adjective 

"Good  luck  to  you,"  said  I.  "You  have 
plenty  of  dictionaries,  I  suppose?  Or  have 
you  all  the  possible  words  in  your  head  ?" 

"  That  isn't  the  place  to  have  them,"  re 
plied  Jepson,  absently.  "  And  the  diction 
aries  would  be  no  help  either.  You've  got 
to  experience  a  word  before  you  can  use  it 
in  that  fashion.  You  must  live  it." 

"Very  likely,"  said  I.  "All  that  isn't 
exactly  in  my  line.  Well,  here's  my  car 
coming.  We  must  get  together  again  some 
time  this  winter,  old  fellow.  Good-by.  All 
success  to  you  and  your  adjectives !"  And 
we  parted  as  if  we  were  freshmen  once  more. 

For  a  day  or  two  the  thought  of  Jepson 
and  his  favorite  passion  was  often  in  my 
mind,  and  then  I  forgot  all  about  him.  Late 
the  next  spring  it  occurred  to  me  to  look 
him  up,  and  I  went  around  to  the  hospital 
where  he  had  been  house  surgeon.  I  learned 
that  his  term  had  not  yet  expired,  and  after 
a  tedious  hour  in  the  waiting-room,  down  he 
came.  He  looked  fagged,  and  as  soon  as  he 
had  taken  me  up  to  his  room  he  dropped  up 
on  the  sofa.  "Yes,"  he  admitted,  "I  am 
about  played  out.  We've  been  working 
248 


Jepson's  Third  Adjective 

some  twenty  hours,  off  and  on,  the  whole 
staff  of  us,  over  a  peculiar  case — a  Polish 
Jew  who  tried  to  kill  himself  with  insect 
powder.  And  he  did,  sure  enough,  though 
we  thought  a  half  dozen  times  that  we  had 
pulled  him  through.  Rather  humiliating, 
wasn't  it?  It  was  one  of  these  patent 
powders,  and  the  composition  of  it  fooled 
us.  Well,  how  are  you  ?  " 

"  First  rate,"  said  I,  gazing  with  a  sort  of 
fascination  at  the  man  who  had  just  come 
from  the  struggle  for  life  or  death.  "  Why 
did  he  kill  himself?" 

"  That  was  the  singular  part  of  it.  He 
was  a  box  maker  on  the  East  Side,  and  out 
of  work.  They  generally  are.  He  had  a 
wife  and  three  children ;  that  number, 
though,  is  something  under  the  average. 
But  he  was  down  in  the  mouth,  and  got  it 
into  his  Jew  head  that  it  would  be  a  fine 
scheme  to  take  out  some  life  insurance  for 
the  benefit  of  his  family  and  then  commit 
suicide.  He  had  nerve  enough  to  carry  it 
through,  too." 

I  exclaimed  something  about  the  tragic 
nobility  of  the  motive. 
249 


Jepson's  Third  Adjective 

"  Nonsense,"  interrupted  Jepson,  impa 
tiently.  "  You  can't  say  that  when  you  think 
what  a  wretched  mess  the  man  made  of  it. 
He  tried  to  trick  the  company,  that's  plain 
enough ;  but  there  was  a  lot  of  fine  print  on 
the  back  of  his  policy  that  he  didn't  read,  or 
couldn't  read — it  was  in  his  pocket  and 
we've  all  been  reading  it  over — and  his 
family  won't  get  a  cent !  And  do  you  know, 
the  fellow  actually  tried  to  beat  down  the 
druggist  on  the  price  of  the  insect  powder. 
You  can't  make  high  tragedy  out  of  it.  It's 
just  a  case  of  shabby,  sordid  pitifulness." 

Something  in  the  deliberate  way  he  se 
lected  his  epithets  reminded  me  of  the  night 
when  we  had  stood  in  front  of  the  theatre. 
Perhaps  Jepson  was  thinking  of  the  same 
thing.  "  Let's  see,"  he  said,  "  we  haven't 
met  since  we  saw  Romeo  and  Juliet." 

"  No,"  I  replied,  with  a  sudden  curiosity, 
"  and  you  were  going  to  try  to  describe  life 
with  three  adjectives.  Do  you  remember? 
'  Droll '  was  one ;  have  you  got  the  others  ?  " 

"  I  have  the  second  one,"  he  answered. 
"  I  hit  upon  it  this  very  afternoon, '  Pitiful ; ' 
how  does  it  strike  you?    Life  is  droll  and 
250 


Jepson's  Third  Adjective 

pitiful."  The  words  fell  slowly  from  his 
lips,  like  heavy  stamped  coins.  He  closed 
his  eyes  and  shook  his  head  slightly  ;  I 
fancied  he  was  trying  to  get  rid  of  the  image 
of  the  Polish  Jew. 

"  But  you  weren't  going  to  stop  with 
two/'  I  suggested. 

"  I  can't  get  but  one  at  a  time,"  he  re 
plied,  "  and  the  one  I've  discovered  to-day 
would  crowd  out  any  other.  Come,  tell  me 
something  cheerful." 

I  tried  a  half-dozen  topics,  but  Jepson's 
weariness  and  depression  were  so  evident 
that  I  thought  it  more  the  part  of  friendship 
to  come  away  and  let  him  go  to  bed. 

This  time,  however,  the  man  and  his 
choice  of  terms  ran  in  my  head  persistently. 
Evidently  he  was  living  his  adjectives,  as  he 
had  said,  and  I  found  myself  wondering, 
sometimes  in  moments  that  should  have 
been  the  busiest,  what  the  third  one  would 
be.  Droll  and  pitiful  and — what  ?  In  spec 
ulating  over  the  word  I  often  forgot 
Jepson  entirely.  I  found  myself  trying  to 
work  out  the  problem  independently,  to 
fasten  upon  that  final  epithet  which,  when 
251 


Jepson's  Third  Adjective 

applied  to  myself  and  the  rest  of  the  world, 
would  crown  the  desired  phrase  and  fitly  de 
scribe  the  indefinable.  If  any  of  our  old 
friends  had  known  what  was  passing  within 
me  they  would  certainly  have  called  me  as 
far  gone  as  Synonym  Jepson  himself. 

It  was  only  the  other  day  that  I  saw  Jep 
son  again.  I  was  on  the  lower  deck  of  a 
ferryboat  coming  into  the  Cortlandt  Street 
slip.  A  keen  north  wind  blew  down  the 
river  and  most  of  the  passengers  stayed  in 
side,  but  a  few  of  us  were  standing  in  the 
extreme  bow  of  the  boat  watching  a  bare 
legged  little  Italian,  who  was  tossing  peanut 
shucks  into  the  mouth  of  a  one-eyed  Skye 
terrier.  They  were  both  in  front  of  the  gate, 
and  as  the  big  boat  crunched  her  way  along 
the  swaying  piles  toward  the  head  of  the 
slip,  the  terrier,  leaping  to  catch  the  last 
shuck,  lost  his  balance  somehow  and  slipped 
overboard.  His  owner,  with  a  shrill  cry, 
sprang  to  catch  him,  and  failing,  dropped 
after  him  straight  over  the  bow  of  the  boat. 
It  was  the  sheerest  folly  I  ever  saw.  Two 
or  three  yards  only  of  churning  green  water 
between  the  vertical,  slippery  planks  ahead 
252 


Jepson's  Third  Adjective 

and  the  huge  oncoming  Cincinnati.  It 
made  me  sick.  I  caught  a  glimpse  of  a 
couple  of  frantic  strokes  down  there  in  the 
oily  foam,  heard  the  terrier's  piercing  bark, 
and  saw  a  whitefaced  ferryhouse  gateman 
spring  down  a  sort  of  ladder  in  the  corner 
of  the  slip,  where  there  was  a  tiny  angle  just 
out  of  reach  of  the  pitiless  curve  of  the  Cin 
cinnati's  bow.  Someone  behind  us  screamed 
as  the  boat  ground  against  the  planking. 
The  line  of  men  in  the  ferryhouse  had  broken 
over  the  gate  and  rushed  forward,  only  to 
stand  looking  into  our  faces,  much,  I  fancy, 
as  we  must  have  looked  into  theirs.  And 
then,  crawling  up  the  half-submerged  lad 
der,  for  all  the  world  as  a  man  might  crawl 
out  of  a  well,  emerged  the  gateman,  shak 
ing  the  water  out  of  his  eyes  and  dragging 
after  him  the  sobbing  little  Italian,  whose 
right  ringers  were  twisted  in  the  collar  of 
his  shivering  dog.  We  shouted,  but  quieted 
suddenly  as  we  noticed  that  the  boy's  arm 
hung  limp  and  that  his  left  hand  was  an 
object  no  one  would  care  to  look  at  twice. 

It  was  at  that  moment  that  I  recognized 
Jepson.     He  must  have  been  somewhere 
253 


Jepson's  Third  Adjective 

among  the  crowd  from  the  ferryhouse.  For 
the  first  time  in  my  life  I  would  have  liked 
to  be  a  surgeon  myself.  The  way  Synonym 
Jepson  ordered  that  crowd  around  and  got 
the  Italian  into  the  waiting-room  and  sent 
for  an  ambulance  and  wrapped  the  crushed 
fingers  with  handkerchiefs — he  had  fifty  of 
fered  him,  from  Brussels  point  to  greasy 
bandannas — was  a  pleasure  to  behold.  I 
stayed  with  him  until  the  little  fellow  was 
safely  packed  off  for  the  hospital,  and  then 
Jepson  pulled  out  his  watch. 

"  I've  lost  the  Philadelphia  train,"  he  said. 
"  but  it's  no  matter.  I'll  go  to-morrow. 
Come  and  lunch  with  me,  will  you  ?  " 

We  walked  up  Cortlandt  Street  and  he 
made  me  tell  him  how  the  accident  hap 
pened.  He  seemed  very  excited  over  it  for 
a  man  whose  demeanor  at  the  ferry  had  been 
so  thoroughly  professional. 

"  The  little  devil  did  that  for  a  dog !  "  he 
exclaimed.  "  You  and  I  wouldn't  have 
risked  it  for  an  heiress." 

"  I  should  say  not,"  I  confessed.    "  The 
chances  were  a  hundred  to  one  against  him. 
I  suppose  he  didn't  stop  to  think." 
254 


Jepson's  Third  Adjective 

"  Exactly !  "  cried  Jepson.  "  That's  just 
what  I  like  about  it.  He  wasn't  sophisti 
cated  enough  to  hesitate.  He  followed  his 
instinct.  Now  where  did  he  get  that  in 
stinct;  that's  what  I  should  like  to  know. 
What  do  you  say  ?  " 

We  were  standing  at  the  Sixth  Avenue 
crossing  as  he  spoke,  waiting  for  a  surface 
car.  The  sharp  autumn  wind  put  color  and 
\igor  into  the  faces  of  the  tramping  throng 
upon  the  pavement  ;  it  brightened  Jepson's 
eyes  as  he  turned  to  me  with  his  question. 
He  had  never  seemed  so  alert,  forceful. 

"  Hold  on,"  said  he,  "  you  needn't  an 
swer  that.  We  ought  to  know  well  enough, 
both  of  us.  And  by  the  way,  there's  my  third 
adjective.  I  wanted  three,  you  remember — 
*  droll '  and  '  pitiful,'  and " 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  I  asked.  I  think  he  had  no 
idea  how  eager  I  was. 

"  Divine"  said  Jepson. 


255 


The  White  Blackbird 


The  White  Blackbird 

JWl  ID  -  AFTERNOON  in  August ;  a 
scarcely  perceptible  haze  over  the  line 
of  hills  that  marched  northward  into  the  St. 
Lawrence  valley;  and  here,  under  the  fir 
balsams  back  of  the  great  dingy  Morraway 
Hotel,  coolness  and  quiet.  Through  the 
lower  boughs  of  the  balsams  gleamed  the 
lake,  blue-black,  unsounded,  reticent.  Be 
hind  their  slender  cone-darkened  tops 
glistened  the  bare  shoulders  of  Morraway 
Mountain  in  full  sunlight  ;  and  overhead 
hung  one  of  those  caressing,  taunting, 
weather-breeding  skies  that  mark  the  turn 
ing  point  of  the  brief  northern  summer. 

Curled  up  at  one  end  of  a  broken  rus 
tic  seat  under  the  shadow  of  the  balsams 
was  a  strenuous  little  woman  of  thirty-five, 
conscientiously  endeavoring  to  relax.  The 
habitual  distress  of  her  forehead  was  miti- 
259 


The  White  Blackbird 

gated  by  a  negligent,  young-girlish  manner 
of  doing  up  her  hair;  she  was  carelessly 
dressed,  too,  and  as  she  read  aloud  to  her 
companion  from  The  Journal  of  American 
Folklore  she  kept  swinging  one  foot  over  the 
edge  of  the  seat  until  the  boot-lacings  were 
dangling.  The  printed  label  upon  the  cover 
of  the  Journal  bore  the  name  of  Miss  Jane 
Rodman,  Ph.D. 

Miss  Rodman's  niece  was  stretched  on 
the  brown,  fragrant,  needle-covered  slope, 
pretending  to  listen.  Her  face  was  turned 
dreamily  toward  the  lake.  Her  head  rested 
upon  her  left  hand,  which  was  long,  sun 
burned,  and  bare  of  rings.  In  the  palm  of 
her  right  hand  she  balanced  from  time  to 
time  a  little  silver  penknife,  and  then  with  a 
flash  of  her  wrist  buried  the  point  in  the 
balsam-needles,  in  a  solitary  and  aimless 
game  of  mumble-the-peg.  She  was  not  par 
ticularly  attracted  by  what  her  learned  aunt 
was  reading  to  her  about  the  marriage  rites 
of  the  Bannock  Indians.  In  fact  she  buried 
the  knife  with  a  trifle  more  spirit  than  usual 
when  the  article  came  to  an  end. 

Miss  Rodman  pencilled  some  ethnolog- 
260 


The  White  Blackbird 

ical  notes  upon  the  margin  of  the  Journal. 
"  There's  another  valuable  article  here, 
Olivia,"  she  said,  tentatively.  "  It's  upon 
Blackfeet  superstitions.  Don't  you  think 
I'd  better  read  that  too  ?  " 

The  younger  woman  nodded  assent,  with 
out  looking  up.  She  was  gloriously  in 
nocent  of  any  scientific  interest,  and  yet 
grateful  for  her  aunt's  endeavor  to  entertain 
her.  Miss  Rodman  began  eagerly,  and 
Olivia  Lane  silently  shifted  her  position  and 
tried  to  play  mumble-the-peg  with  her  left 
hand.  Ten  minutes  passed. 

"  Then  there's  a  footnote,"  Miss  Rodman 
was  saying,  mechanically.  "  '  Compare  the 
Basque  legend  about  the  white  blackbird 
whose  singing  restores  sight  to  the  blind.' " 

The  girl  looked  up  suddenly.  "  What  was 
that  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  '  The  white  blackbird  whose  singing  re 
stores  the  sight  to  the  blind/  "  repeated  Miss 
Rodman,  in  a  softer  voice. 

Olivia  moved  restlessly  and  then  sat  up 
with  fingers  clasped  about  her  knees. 
There  was  a  red  tinge  upon  her  round  sun- 
browned  cheek,  where  it  had  nestled  in  the 
261 


The  White  Blackbird 

palm  of  her  hand.  "  A — white — black 
bird  ?  "  she  inquired,  with  the  incredulous 
inflection  of  a  child. 

The  elder  woman  nodded — that  kindly 
pitying  nod  with  which  a  science-trained 
generation  recognizes  and,  even  in  recogniz 
ing,  classifies,  the  old  poetic  superstitions  of 
the  race.  But  her  pity  was  really  for  the  tall, 
supple,  low-voiced  girl  at  her  feet  ;  this 
brave,  beautiful  creature  who  was  slowly 
growing  blind. 

Olivia  glanced  at  her,  with  great  brown 
eyes  that  betrayed  no  sign  of  the  fatal  web 
that  nature  was  steadily  weaving  in  their 
depths.  There  was  a  slight  smile  upon  her 
lips.  Each  of  the  women  knew  what  was  in 
the  other's  mind. 

Miss  Rodman  laid  down  the  Journal. 
"  I  shouldn't  have  read  it,  dear,"  she  said, 
at  last.  "  I  didn't  know  what  was  coming." 

"  But  it  is  such  a  pretty  fancy ! "  ex 
claimed  Olivia.  "  I  shall  be  looking  for 
white  blackbirds  under  every  bush,  Auntie." 

She  drew  a  long  breath — too  long,  alas ! 
for  a  girl  of  twenty — and  then  with  a  sort  of 
unconscious  feminine  instinct  patted  her 
262 


The  White  Blackbird 

heavy  hair  more  closely  into  place  and  be 
gan  to  brush  the  balsam-needles  from  the 
folds  of  her  walking-skirt. 

Miss  Rodman  made  no  answer.  There 
seemed  to  be  nothing  to  say.  In  this  matter 
of  Olivia's  eyes  nature  was  playing  one  of 
her  countless  petty  tragedies;  science,  the 
counter-player,  stood  helpless  on  the  stage, 
and  Olivia  herself  was  outwardly  one  of  the 
coolest  of  the  few  spectators. 

She  had  done  all  that  could  be  done.  Dr. 
Sands,  the  rising  specialist,  an  intimate 
friend  of  the  Lanes  and  the  Rodmans,  had 
sent  her  to  London  to  consult  Watson,  and 
Watson's  verdict  was  not  reassuring.  Then 
he  had  sent  her  to  Forget,  at  Paris,  and  For 
get  had  shaken  his  head.  Finally  Dr.  Sands 
had  advised  her  to  come  here  to  the  Mor- 
raway  region  for  the  air  and  the  perfect 
quiet.  Once  a  month  he  dropped  everything 
in  New  York  and  came  up  himself  to  make 
an  examination  and  give  his  brief  report.  At 
the  end  of  June  he  had  told  Miss  Rodman 
that  Olivia  had  perhaps  one  chance  in  five 
of  keeping  her  eyesight.  A  month  later  he 
pronounced  it  one  chance  in  fifty.  Dr.  Sands 
263 


The  White  Blackbird 

stayed  three  days  at  the  Morraway  Hotel 
that  time,  before  giving  his  opinion,  and  a 
more  difficult  professional  duty  he  had  never 
had  to  perform.  If  she  were  only  some  girl 
who  walked  into  his  office  and  out  again, 
like  the  hundreds  of  others,  it  would  have 
been  different,  but  to  tell  Olivia  Lane 
seemed  as  brutal  as  it  would  have  been  to 
strike  her.  And  on  this  August  evening  he 
had  promised  to  come  again. 

By  and  by  Miss  Rodman  slipped  down 
from  the  rustic  bench  and  seated  herself  by 
her  niece.  The  girl  stroked  her  aunt's 
shoulder  lightly.  Everything  that  could  be 
said  had  been  said  already,  when  the  horror 
of  that  great  darkness  had  not  drawn  quite 
so  near. 

And  yet  there  was  one  question  which 
Olivia  longed  to  ask,  though  she  feared  the 
answer;  trembling  either  way,  as  a  child 
that  asks  whether  she  may  run  to  snatch  a 
glistening  shell  upon  the  beach  even  while 
another  wave  is  racing  to  engulf  it.  Olivia's 
blindness  was  that  black,  all-engulfing  wave. 
And  the  treasure  which  she  might  catch  to 
her  bosom,  child-like,  ere  the  dark  wave  fell  ? 
264 


The  White  Blackbird 

"  Auntie,"  demanded  Miss  Lane,  ab 
ruptly,  "  have  you  told  Mr.  Allan  about  my 
eyes?" 

Miss  Rodman  hesitated  a  moment.  "  Yes, 
dear,"  she  replied;  and  she  added,  with  an 
aunt's  prerogative,  "  Why  ?  " 

"  I  wished  him  to  know,"  answered 
Olivia,  simply.  "  And  I  preferred  not  to 
speak  of  it  myself.  I  am  glad  you  told 
him." 

Miss  Rodman  flushed  a  little.  She  was 
about  to  speak,  apparently,  but  her  niece 
interrupted  her. 

"  He's  coming  to  take  us  over  to  the  Pines 
before  supper,  if  he  finishes  his  map.  It 
seems  to  me  that  a  government  geologist 
has  a  very  easy  time,  Auntie,  Or  isn't  Mr. 
Allan  a  serious-minded  geologist  ?  " 

Her  tone  was  deliciously  quizzical  ;  she 
was  conscious  of  a  secret  happiness  that 
made  her  words  come  fast  and  sure. 

"  I  should  think  the  field  work  would  al 
ways  be  interesting,"  replied  Miss  Rodman, 
with  more  literalness  than  was  demanded  by 
the  occasion.  "  The  preparation  of  the  map 
seems  to  me  purely  mechanical  drudgery. 
265 


The  White  Blackbird 

If  the  Survey  had  a  respectable  appropria 
tion,  Dr.  Allan  would  be  left  free  for  other 
things.  Some  of  his  work  has  been  very 
brilliant." 

The  girl  laughed.  It  always  amused  her 
to  hear  Miss  Rodman,  Ph.D.,  give  Elbridge 
Allan  his  Munich  title.  It  was  like  that  old 
story  of  the  Roman  augurs  bowing  solemn 
ly  to  each  other  with  a  twinkle  in  the  eye. 

"  Hoho!  hahei!  hoho!"  sang  a  big,  boyish 
voice  from  the  direction  of  the  Morraway 
Hotel. 

"Hoho!  hahei!  Hahei!  hoho!" 

Olivia  turned  and  waved  her  hand  toward 
the  voice.  "  He  doesn't  get  the  intervals  of 
that  Sword-song  exactly  according  to  Wag 
ner,"  she  commented.  "  But  what  a  Sieg 
fried  he  would  make  for  size !  " 

He  came  striding  down  the  woodland 
path,  shouting  out  the  Sword-song  and  wav 
ing  his  pipe;  a  superb,  tan-faced  fellow  of 
twenty-five,  clean-built,  clean-shaven,  clear- 
eyed.  His  heavy  hob-nailed  field  shoes  were 
noiseless  upon  the  moss.  The  loose,  gray 
golf  suit — with  coat  unbuttoned — showed 
every  line  of  his  athlete's  figure,  as  he  kept 
266 


The  White  Blackbird 

time  to  the  rhythm  of  that  splendid  chant. 
When  he  neared  the  ladies,  he  lifted  his  cap, 
and  all  the  sunlight  that  strayed  through  the 
balsam  branches  seemed  to  fall  upon  his 
face. 

Miss  Rodman  gazed  at  him  admiringly. 
"  Isn't  he  magnificent !  "  she  murmured. 

Olivia  did  not  hear  her.  "  He  knows !  " 
she  kept  saying  to  herself.  "  And  yet  he  is 
coming!  " 

"  Hail !  "  cried  Allan,  waving  cap  and  pipe 
together.  "  O  ye  idle  women !  " 

"  But  we've  been  reading,"  explained 
Miss  Rodman. 

He  picked  up  the  Journal  of  Folklore 
and  flung  it  down  again.  "  Worse  yet !  "  he 
insisted.  "  You  ought  to  be  tramping. 
Come,  let's  go  over  to  the  Pines." 

"  Is  the  map  finished  ?  "  asked  Olivia. 

"  Done,  and  despatched  to  an  ungrateful 
government.  I'm  going  to  strike  work  for 
two  days,  to  celebrate ;  then  we  begin  trian- 
gulations  on  the  north  side  of  the  lake. 
Well,  aren't  you  coming?" 

He  put  out  his  hand  and  swung  Miss  Rod 
man  to  her  feet.  Olivia  had  risen  without 
267 


The  White  Blackbird 

assistance  and  was  looking  around  for  her 
hat.  Allan  handed  it  to  her. 

"  I  have  some  letters  to  write,"  said  Miss 
Rodman.  "  I  believe  I  won't  go." 

The  geologist's  face  expressed  polite  re 
gret.  Olivia  was  busied  with  her  hatpins. 

"  But  Miss  Lane  may  go,"  continued  her 
aunt.  "  You  might  take  Dr.  Allan  over  in 
the  canoe,  Olivia.  That  would  save  time." 

The  girl  nodded,  outwardly  demure,  in 
wardly  dancing  toward  that  bright,  wave- 
thrown  shell.  "  Very  well,"  she  said,  "  if 
Mr.  Allan  will  trust  himself  again  to  the 
Water-Witch." 

"  Either  of  us  could  swim  ashore  with  the 
Water- Witch  in  our  teeth,"  laughed  the 
geologist.  "  Come  ahead !  " 

They  started  down  the  steep,  shadowy 
path  to  the  lake,  the  two  tall  lithe  figures 
swaying  away  from  each  other,  toward  each 
other,  as  they  wound  in  and  out  among  the 
trees. 

Miss  Rodman  felt  a  trifle  uncomfortable. 

She  had  not  been  altogether  honest  when 

Olivia  asked  her  if  Mr.  Allan  knew  about 

her  eyes.    In  fact  she  realized  that  she  had 

268 


The  White  Blackbird 

been  rather  dishonest.    She  had  indeed  told 
the  geologist— what  he  might  have  guessed 
for  himself— that  Miss  Lane's  eyes  gave  her 
serious  trouble,  and  that  she  had  been  for 
bidden  to  use  them.    But  she  had  not  told 
him  that  Olivia  was  going  blind.    It  was  ob 
vious  that  he  liked  the  girl,  and  Miss  Rod 
man  shrank  from  letting  the  tragic  shadow 
of   Olivia's   future   darken    these    summer 
months  unnecessarily.     She  recognized  in 
stinctively  that  the  geologist's  attitude  tow 
ard  her  ward  might  be  altered  if  he  were  con 
scious    of    the    coming    catastrophe.     She 
wanted — yes,  she  owned  to  herself  that  she 
wanted— to  have  Elbridge  Allan  so  deeply 
in  love  with  Olivia  that  even  if  the  worst 
came  true  he  would  but  love  her  the  better 
for  her  blindness.     But  to  tell  him  prema 
turely  might  have  spoiled  everything.     So 
reasoned  Miss  Rodman,  Ph.D. 

Yet  as  she  stood  watching  the  disappear 
ing  pair,  she  was  conscious  of  a  certain  ir 
ritation.  If  only  he  had  not  come  singing 
through  the  woods  at  just  the  moment  when 
she  was  about  to  explain  to  Olivia  that  she 
had  not  told  him  the  worst !  For  she  felt 
269 


The  White  Blackbird 

sure,  now,  that  she  would  have  explained,  if 
they  had  not  been  interrupted.  Well,  she 
would  confess  to  Olivia  after  supper !  And 
Miss  Rodman  gathered  up  the  Journal  of 
Folklore  and  the  other  reviews,  and  sauntered 
back  to  the  hotel.  Ethics,  after  all,  had  been 
only  her  minor  subject  when  she  took  her 
doctor's  degree;  she  felt  strongest  in  eth 
nology. 

Meanwhile  old  Felix,  at  the  boat-house, 
sponged  out  the  tiny  birch  canoe,  and 
scowled  as  Allan  stepped  carelessly  into  the 
bow  with  his  big  hob-nailed  shoes.  Miss 
Lane  tucked  up  the  cuffs  of  her  shirt-waist 
to  keep  them  from  the  drip  of  the  paddle,  and 
Allan  pocketed  her  sleeve-buttons.  Then 
old  Felix  pushed  them  off.  He  had  rented 
boats  there  for  thirty  years,  ever  since  those 
first  grand  seasons  of  the  Morraway  Hotel, 
when  the  Concord  coaches  ran,  and  before 
the  railroad  had  gone  up  the  other  valley, 
and  left  the  Morraway  region  to  a  mild  de 
cay.  Thirty  years  ;  but  he  had  never  seen  a 
girl  whom  he  fancied  as  much  as  Olivia 
Lane.  He  had  pushed  so  many  couples  off 
from  the  old  wharf  in  his  time,  and  never  a 
270 


The  White  Blackbird 

finer  pair  than  this,  yet  he  liked  Olivia  bet 
ter  alone.  He  did  not  know  why  he  disliked 
the  geologist,  except  that  Allan  had  broken 
an  oar  in  June  and  had  forgotten  to  pay  for 
it. 

The  pair  in  the  Water-Witch  grew 
rather  silent,  as  the  canoe  crept  over  the 
deep,  mountain-shadowed  water.  Allan 
smoked  his  pipe  vigorously,  his  eyes  upon 
Miss  Lane  ;  she  seemed  wholly  occupied 
with  her  paddling.  As  they  neared  the  shore 
he  warned  her  once  or  twice  when  the  canoe 
grazed  the  sharp  edges  of  protruding  basalt ; 
but  each  time  she  avoided  them  with  what 
appeared  to  him  extraordinary  skill.  In 
reality  she  could  not  see  them,  and  thought 
he  understood. 

She  gave  him  her  hand  as  she  stepped 
ashore,  and  was  conscious  that  he  retained 
it  a  moment  longer  than  mere  courtesy  de 
manded.  He  kept  close  to  her  side  as  they 
breasted  the  steep  mountain-path.  When 
ever  they  stopped  to  rest,  each  could  hear 
the  other's  breathing.  Now  and  then,  at  a 
rock-strewn  rise,  he  placed  his  fingers  be 
neath  her  elbow,  to  steady  her.  He  had 

never  done  it  before. 

271 


The  White  Blackbird 

"  He  knows !  "  she  kept  saying  to  herself, 
deep  down  below  all  words.  "  He  knows ! 
And  he  wants  me  to  feel  that  it  makes  no  dif 
ference  !  "  It  thrilled  her  like  great  music. 
Let  the  dark  wave  break,  if  it  must;  it 
could  not  rob  her  of  the  shining  treasure. 
She  could  yet  be  loved,  like  other  women. 
The  darkness  without  would  not  be  so 
dreadful,  if  all  those  lamps  that  Heaven 
meant  to  be  lighted  in  a  woman's  soul  were 
glowing ! 

They  reached  the  crest  of  the  knoll,  where 
a  dozen  ragged  white  pines  towered.  Be 
neath  them  curved  the  lake,  growing  darker 
already  as  the  western  sky  began  to  blaze. 
Olivia  seated  herself  against  one  of  the  pines, 
and,  removing  her  hat,  leaned  back  con 
tentedly.  It  was  so  good  to  breathe  deep 
and  free,  to  feel  the  breeze  at  her  temples,  to 
have  the  man  who  loved  her  reclining  at  her 
feet.  All  this  could  yet  be  hers,  whatever 
happened ! 

And  all  at  once,  upon  one  of  the  lower 

branches  of  the  pine,  she  was  aware  of  a 

white  blackbird.    The  utter  surprise  sent  the 

color  from  her  face  ;  then  it  came  flooding 

272 


The  White  Blackbird 

back  again.  In  a  tumult  of  unreasoning  joy, 
of  girlish  superstition,  she  bent  forward  and 
caught  Allan  by  the  shoulder,  pointing 
stealthily  at  the  startled  bird. 

"  The  white  blackbird !  "  she  whispered, 
rapturously. 

He  glanced  upward  indifferently,  wonder 
ing  at  Miss  Lane's  ecstatic  face.  He  did 
not  know  that  she  cared  particularly  for 
birds. 

"It's  an  albino,"  he  remarked.  "I've 
seen  him  three  or  four  times  this  summer. 
They  have  one  in  the  museum  at  St.  Johns- 
bury." 

"  Hush !  "  exclaimed  Olivia,  with  a  low, 
intense  utterance  that  almost  awed  him.  "  It 
may  sing !  " 

But  the  bird  fluttered  its  cream-white 
wings,  and  disappeared  into  the  upper 
branches  of  the  pine. 

"  It's  too  late,"  said  the  geologist.  "  Black 
birds  don't  sing  after  midsummer." 

"  Oh,  you  don't  understand !  "  she  cried, 
half  starting  from  her  seat  and  peering  up 
ward  into  the  dusky,  breeze-swept  canopy. 
273 


The  White  Blackbird 

"The  white  blackbird  is  the  Restorer  of 
Sight  I" 

He  looked  puzzled. 

"  There's  a  legend ! "  she  exclaimed. 
"  Auntie  and  I  learned  it  this  very  afternoon. 
The  singing  of  a  white  blackbird  restores 
sight  to  the  blind !  " 

"  Well,"  he  said,  carelessly,  rapping  the 
ashes  out  of  his  pipe,  "  what  of  that  ?  "  And 
he  looked  up  in  her  face  again,  thinking  that 
her  luminous  brown  eyes  had  never  been  so 
lovely. 

He  saw  them  change  and  grow  piteous, 
even  as  he  spoke. 

"Didn't  Auntie  tell  you?"  she  de 
manded. 

He  shook  his  head. 

She  grew  white,  and  a  moan  escaped  her 
lips.  The  truth  dawned,  clear  and  pitiless. 
Aunt  Jane  had  failed  to  tell  him  plainly,  and 
Elbridge  Allan — her  lover,  as  she  had  be 
lieved — was  yet  in  ignorance  of  her  fate. 

But  the  girl  had  had  a  long  training  in 
courage,  and  she  spoke  instantly.  "  Mr. 
Allan,  I  am  in  all  probability  going  to  be  ab 
solutely  blind.  They  said  that  in  Paris  and 
274 


The  White  Blackbird 

London  last  summer,  and  they  gave  me  a 
year.  Dr.  Sands  told  me  a  month  ago  that  I 
had  but  one  chance  in  fifty." 

Her  voice  was  quiet  and  even,  but  she  did 
not  trust  herself  to  look  at  Elbridge  Allan. 
She  gazed  out  over  the  gloomy  lake  toward 
the  sun-tipped  peak  of  Morraway  Mountain, 
and  waited.  She  would  know,  now.  So 
many  times  had  she  waited,  like  this,  for  a 
verdict  from  the  doctors,  but  her  heart  had 
never  seemed  to  stop  quite  still  before.  She 
heard  him  make  a  surprised  movement,  but 
he  did  not  speak. 

"  I  knew  Billy  Sands  in  college,"  he  said 
awkwardly  at  last.  "  He  was  too  lazy  then 
to  walk  across  the  yard  when  the  bell  rang." 

"  He  is  an  old  friend  of  ours,"  she  replied, 
in  swift  loyalty.  "  No  one  could  have  been 
more  kind " 

She  stopped,  realizing  that  he  was  em 
barrassed. 

"  Miss  Lane,"  he  broke  out,  "  it's  terrible ! 
I  had  no  idea  it  was  as  serious  as  that.  I'm 
sorrier  than  I  can  say.  Is  Billy  Sands  really 
the  best  man  to  go  to  ?  There  used  to  be  a 
wonderful  oculist  in  Munich.  By  Jupiter, 
275 


The  White  Blackbird 

it's  too  bad !  Do  you  know,  I  think  you're 
immensely  brave.  I — I  wish  I  might  be  of 
some  service." 

Slowly  she  turned  her  eyes  from  the 
mountain-top,  and  looked  straight  into  his 
face.  It  was  a  handsome  face,  full  of  boy 
ish  trouble,  of  genuine  sympathy,  of  ten 
derness,  even.  And  that  was  all  there  was 
there.  His  eyes  fell.  The  stillness  was  so 
great  that  she  could  hear  overhead  the 
sleepy  flutter  and  chirp  of  the  white  black 
bird,  the  Restorer  of  Sight.  And  she  was 
blind  no  longer ;  she  comprehended,  in  that 
one  instant,  that  he  did  not  love  her. 

"  I  am  so  sorry "  he  began  again. 

"  I  am  sure  of  that,  Mr.  Allan,"  she  in 
terrupted.  "  But  it  is  really  better  not  to 
talk  about  it.  It  cannot  be  helped.  And 
Auntie  and  I  seldom  speak  of  it."  She 
wished  to  be  loyal  to  her  aunt,  through 
all. 

Allan  nodded  his  head.  He  was  thinking 
that  it  was  a  little  unfair  in  Miss  Rodman  to 
let  a  young  fellow  go  on — well,  yes,  liking 
a  girl — without  telling  him  that  she  was 
liable  to  be  blind. 

276 


The  White  Blackbird 

Olivia  found  herself  trembling.  Oh,  if  he 
would  only  go  away !  She  could  bear  it,  if 
she  were  alone!  If  he  only  would  not  lie 
there  and  look  regretful  and  pathetic ! 

From  far  up  the  valley  to  the  southward 
floated  the  faint  whistle  of  the  evening  ex 
press.  "  Mr.  Allan,"  said  Olivia  suddenly, 
"  you  can  do  me  a  great  service.  Dr.  Sands 
is  coming  on  that  train,  and  I  promised 
Auntie  to  have  a  carriage  sent  for  him.  I 
forgot  it.  Would  you  mind  attending  to  it  ? 
You  might  take  the  footpath  down  to 
Swayne's,  and  telephone,  and  I'll  bring  over 
the  canoe." 

Allan  rose,  with  a  look  of  relief  which  he 
could  not  quite  disguise.  "  You're  sure  you 
don't  mind  going  back  alone  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Not  at  all." 

With  a  long  troubled  look  at  the  girl's 
downcast  face  he  turned  away  and  hurried 
down  the  slope  toward  Swayne's.  His  own 
dream-castle  was  in  ruins,  too ;  for  a  month 
past  he  had  begun  to  picture  Olivia's  tall 
charming  figure  in  the  castle  entrance.  She 
had  all  that  he  could  possibly  have  desired 
in  a  woman  :  beauty,  grace,  humor,  wealth 
277 


The  White  Blackbird 

— and  she  had  seemed  to  like  him — and  now 
she  was  going  blind !  It  was  too  bad — too 
bad.  He  felt  very  hard  hit.  He  stopped  to 
light  his  pipe,  and  then  strode  on,  discon 
tentedly. 

Olivia  threw  herself  face  downward  upon 
the  soft  sun-warmed  pine-needles,  and  lay 
there  sobbing.  It  was  hard  to  give  him  up  ; 
harder  still  to  feel  that  he  had  never  loved  her 
at  all.  She  had  simply  been  mistaken. 
Childlike,  she  had  fancied  it  was  the  sea- 
shell  that  was  singing,  when  in  reality  the 
music  was  only  the  echo  from  her  own  pulse- 
beats.  Wave  after  wave  of  maidenly  shame 
throbbed  to  her  cheeks  and  throat.  She  had 
wanted  to  be  loved,  before  that  pall  was 
flung  over  her  life,  and  while  she  could  still 
be  to  her  lover  as  other  women  were  to 
theirs.  But  she  had  had  no  right — no  right ! 

Moment  by  moment  her  girlhood  seemed 
to  slip  away  from  her,  like  some  bright  vision 
that  flees  at  day-break.  She  felt  already  the 
terrible  helplessness  of  her  doom,  the  loneli 
ness  of  a  blind  woman  who  is  growing  old. 
High  overhead  the  solitary,  mateless  white 
blackbird  smoothed  his  creamy  wings  and 
278 


The  White  Blackbird 

settled  himself  to  rest  among  the  soughing 
branches.  Morraway  Mountain  grew  gray 
and  distant.  The  mist  began  to  rise  from  the 
swarthy  lake.  Between  the  trunks  of  the 
ancient  pines  the  sunset  glowed  more  and 
more  faintly.  The  wind  began  to  whisper 
solemnly  in  the  woods.  And  still  the  girl 
lay  prostrate  between  the  roots  of  the  great 
pine,  praying  to  be  forgiven  for  her  selfish 
ness. 

It  was  quite  dusk  when  she  arose.  With 
some  difficulty  she  found  the  path  and  hur 
ried  downward,  stumbling  often  and  once 
falling.  But  her  courage  rose  with  the  very 
play  of  her  muscles.  She  had  to  grope  with 
her  hands  to  find  the  canoe,  so  thickly  hung 
the  mist  already  above  the  lake.  There  were 
lights  moving  at  old  Felix's  boat-house,  but 
Olivia  could  not  see  them.  She  seated  her 
self  in  the  Water- Witch,  took  her  bearing 
from  the  vague  masses  of  mountain  shadow, 
and  began  to  paddle  with  long,  firm  strokes. 
As  the  canoe  shot  into  deep  water,  she  was 
conscious  that  something  scraped  its  frail 
side.  In  another  moment  the  water  was 
279 


The  White  Blackbird 

pouring  over  her  ankles  and  knees.  She 
stopped  paddling  to  feel  for  the  leak,  and  in 
stantly  the  canoe  began  to  settle. 

With  a  powerful  effort  the  girl  freed  her 
self  from  it  as  it  sank,  although  she  went 
under  once  and  lost  her  hold  upon  the  pad 
dle.  But  she  was  a  practised  swimmer,  and 
though  the  water  chilled  her  through  and 
through  she  struck  out  in  what  she  fancied 
was  the  right  direction.  After  a  dozen 
strokes  the  shore  seemed  farther  away,  and 
she  swam  back  in  growing  fear  to  the  spot 
where  she  thought  the  canoe  had  sunk,  in 
the  hope  of  picking  up  the  paddle.  Round 
and  round  she  swam,  with  a  slow  side-stroke, 
trying  to  find  it,  but  it  had  drifted  away. 

She  was  getting  bewildered  in  the  mist, 
and  the  huge  shadows  that  loomed  above 
the  lake  seemed  all  alike.  She  called  once 
or  twice,  and  then  remembered  that  Felix 
had  probably  gone  home,  and  that  no  one 
could  possibly  hear  her  at  the  hotel.  She 
turned  on  her  back  and  floated  awhile,  to 
collect  herself,  and  then,  keeping  her  eyes 
on  a  certain  shadowy  outline  in  the  fog,  she 
struck  out  again  with  desperate  coolness. 
280 


The  White  Blackbird 

Even  if  she  were  quite  wrong,  the  lake  was 
only  half  a  mile  wide  here,  and  she  had  made 
a  half  mile  so  often. 

If  only  her  clothing  did  not  pull  her  down 
so  terribly !  She  had  to  turn  over  and  float, 
in  order  to  rest,  and  in  so  doing  she  lost  her 
wavering  landmark.  A  cry  of  terror  escaped 
her,  and  with  that  the  water  slapped  over  her 
face  for  the  first  time.  She  shook  it  out  of 
her  nostrils  and  began  to  swim  in  a  circle, 
peering  vainly  through  the  curtain  of  fog. 
The  shadows  had  all  melted  again  into  one 
vast  shadow.  Her  strength  was  going  now ; 
every  stroke  was  an  agony.  She  called — 
not  knowing  that  she  did  so — all  the  life- 
passion  of  youth  vibrating  in  the  clear 
voice ;  then  she  turned  on  her  back  to  float 
once  more,  making  a  gallant,  lonely,  losing 
fight  of  it  to  the  very  last. 

She  felt  quite  warm  now,  and  all  of  a 
sudden  she  ceased  to  have  any  fear.  This 
was  the  way  God  was  taking  to  keep  her 
from  growing  blind ;  she  had  been  as  brave 
as  she  could,  but  now  that  nightmare  of  life 
long  helplessness  was  over.  It  was  not  to 
be  Blindness,  after  all.  Death,  beautiful, 
281 


The  White  Blackbird 

silent-footed,    soft-voiced   Death   had   out 
stripped  Blindness,  and  was  enfolding  her — 

murmuring  to  her — murmuring 

And  as  she  closed  her  eyes  contentedly, 
old  Felix,  swearing  tremulously,  leaned  out 
of  his  boat  and  drew  her  in. 

But  it  was  the  two  men  in  the  other  boat 
who  carried  Miss  Lane  up  to  the  Morra- 
way  Hotel.  One  of  them  was  Elbridge 
Allan,  pale  and  disconcerted ;  the  other  a 
dark,  quick-eyed,  square-lipped  man,  who 
dismissed  the  geologist  rather  abruptly, 
after  Olivia  had  been  taken  to  Miss  Rod 
man's  room. 

"  But  she's  my  friend,  Dr.  Sands,"  he 
pleaded. 

"  And  mine.  And  my  patient  besides,  Mr. 
Allan,"  pronounced  Dr.  Sands. 

"  Then  Doctor,"  said  Allan,  nervously, 
"  you  must  let  me  ask  you  a  question.  Miss 
Lane  told  me  three  hours  ago  that  she  was 
going  blind.  I  was — I  don't  mind  saying — 
very  much  upset  by  it.  Is  it  true  ?  " 

"  Miss  Lane's  eyes  are  in  a  very  serious 
condition,"  replied  Dr.  Sands,  in  his  slight- 
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The  White  Blackbird 

ly  bored  professional  voice,  while  he  meas 
ured  the  other  man  from  head  to  foot. 

"  There  is  no  chance  ?  " 

"  I  would  not  say  that,"  was  the  brusque 
answer.  "  There  is  always  a  chance.  You 
will  of  course  pardon  me  for  not  discussing 
my  patient  ?  " 

There  was  a  quiet  finality  about  this  query 
which  did  not  invite  conversation,  and  Allan 
turned  irresolutely  away. 

It  was  in  the  middle  of  the  next  forenoon 
before  Dr.  Sands  allowed  Olivia  to  talk. 
She  lay  on  the  couch  in  her  aunt's  room,  a 
fire  of  maple  logs  roaring  on  the  hearth,  a 
cold,  fine  rain  whistling  against  the  shaking 
windows.  The  turn  of  the  year  had  come. 
Miss  Rodman  had  gone  off  to  get  some 
sleep.  The  famous  young  oculist  was  pok 
ing  determinedly  at  the  fire  and  calling  him 
self  hard  names.  He  might  have  known  that 
that  handsome  geologist  would  make  him 
self  obnoxious  to  Olivia  Lane ! 

"  Doctor,"  spoke  Olivia. 

"  Yes,  Miss  Lane."  He  was  at  her  side 
in  a  moment. 

"  Do  you  know,"  she  said,  "  I  saw  a  white 
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The  White  Blackbird 

blackbird  yesterday,  just  as  clearly !  It  re 
stores  sight  by  its  singing,  only  it  was  too 
late  in  the  year  for  it  to  sing."  There  was  a 
gentle  irony  in  her  voice,  like  the  echo  of 
her  old  bravery. 

"  Was  it  you  who  took  me  out  of  the 
water?  "  she  asked,  after  a  pause. 

He  shook  his  head.  "  I  wasn't  lucky 
enough.  It  was  Felix." 

"  Last  night,"  said  Miss  Lane,  slowly, 
"  I  didn't  want  to  be  taken  out.  The  water 
seemed  just  the  place  for  me.  But  this  morn 
ing  I  feel  very  much  stronger — Oh,  very 
strong  indeed ! "  She  lifted  one  hand,  to 
show  how  powerful  she  was,  but  it  fell  back 
upon  the  rug  that  covered  her. 

The  doctor  nodded.  He  was  wondering 
about  Elbridge  Allan. 

"  I  can  bear  anything,"  she  went  on. 
"  You  see  I  have  had  to  think  it  all  through. 
You  are  going  to  tell  me  that  there  is  no 
chance,  are  you  not  ?  There  was  but  one  in 
fifty,  you  said."  It  was  not  hope,  but  only  a 
great  patience,  that  shone  softly  in  her  eyes. 

"  If  you  have  held  your  own  for  the  last 
month,  we'll  call  it  one  in  forty-nine,"  he 
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The  White  Blackbird 

replied.  "  But  you  see  I  don't  know  yet 
whether  you  have  held  your  own.  I  don't 
know  anything  to-day,  Olivia,  except  that  I 
love  you.  I  have  loved  you  ever  since  I  sent 
you  to  London." 

She  moved  her  head  wearily,  as  if  she 
could  not  comprehend. 

"  Of  course  it's  very  stupid  in  me  to  say 
so  this  morning,"  he  exclaimed,  ruefully. 
"  But  I  have  waited  too  long  already."  He 
was  still  thinking  of  Elbridge  Allan. 

"  But  I  am  going  blind !  "  she  cried,  fling 
ing  out  her  hands. 

"Very  likely,  dear,"  he  replied.  "Yet 
that  has  nothing  to  do  with  this." 

She  gave  him  a  long,  long  look,  the  tears 
starting. 

"  It  is  you  that  I  am  in  love  with,"  he  said 
slowly.  "  But  of  course  we  will  keep  on 
making  a  good  fight  for  the  eyes." 

"  I— can't— think,"  cried  Olivia.  And 
indeed  she  seemed  to  be  back  in  the  un 
sounded  water  again,  shrouded  by  shadowy 
forms,  surrendering  herself  helplessly  to  a 
power  mightier  than  her  own.  Only  it  was 
not  Death  that  was  murmuring  now ;  it  was 
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The  White  Blackbird 

Life,  gallant,  high-hearted,  all-conquering 
Life,  whose  most  secret  name  is  Love.  And 
as  in  that  other  supreme  moment  it  was  awe 
that  the  girl  felt  rather  than  fear.  "  Not— 
now/'  she  whispered.  "  Not — yet.  I — 
can't— think." 

"Well,  don't!"  he  exclaimed,  eagerly. 
"  I  don't  wish  you  to  think.  If  you  stop  to 
think,  you'll  refuse  me." 

Olivia  smiled  faintly. 

"  I  want  you  to  go  to  sleep  again,"  he  de 
clared.  In  an  instant  he  had  drawn  down 
the  shades  and  placed  the  screen  before  the 
fire.  "  And  when  you  wake  up,"  he  con 
tinued,  "  I  shall  be  right  here,  Olivia ; — and 
always — right — here.  I  think  that's  about 
what  I  want  to  say,"  he  added,  with  a  curious 
husky  little  laugh. 

The  room  was  too  dark  for  him  to  see  the 
delicate  color  surge  into  Olivia's  pale  face. 
But  her  eyelids  closed  slowly,  obediently, 
and  he  went  softly  out. 


286 


'aul  EJder&Cd 


